


Goodbellas

by Stewbacca94



Category: RWBY
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dark Comedy, Italian Mafia, Multi, Organized Crime, Police Procedural, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:12:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 65,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stewbacca94/pseuds/Stewbacca94
Summary: The Vale, a satellite city on the southern edge of Sydney, is home to the Bellas mafia. Headed by the enigmatic Blake Belladonna, they protect their stomping ground from any drug pushers, murderers, and lowlifes who dare defile their home. When a corrupt landlord and his cohorts attempt to wrest control of almost half of Vale for “redevelopment”, the Bellas find themselves in a desperate battle for power, as well as protecting their homes from being bulldozed for the planned gentrification. Meanwhile, an honest group of cops decide that enough is enough with the crime on both sides. Who will win?





	1. The Mancunian Candidate

### Chapter One: The Mancunian Candidate

It was six in the evening on Christmas Eve, 1978. Sydney Airport was teeming with life, and the throngs ebbed and flowed with people flying in for Christmas with their relatives. Amongst this writhing morass was a deceptively young, confident woman. She was garbed in a long, black fur coat which harboured a red dress, with grey stockings and black boots emerging from underneath it. Her dark auburn hair was cut short, in a manner that struck a balance between punk sensibility and femininity.

Arguably, the woman's most remarkable features were her eyes; they were a shade of grey so striking as to appear silver. As the young woman departed Terminal 1, a yellow 1974 Holden Torana was waiting for her in the parking lot. Having exchanged letters with the car's owner about meeting up here, the young woman approached it. As she got close, a burly blonde woman in brown overalls, sneakers and a white shirt exited the car and turned to face her.

“Are you Ruby Rose?”, she drawled.

“That I am,” Ruby replied chipperly.

The blonde relaxed somewhat. “Well that's good; I'm your half-sister, Yang Xiao Long.”

Ruby ran forward and hugged her, and Yang warmly reciprocated by ruffling the Mancunian girl's hair. “It's _so_ good to meet you after so long!”

“I know, right?”

“Well, shall we head back home?”

“Not just yet,” Yang advised. “There's a couple of other people I'm supposed to be picking up here”.

“Okay,” Ruby said with a lower tone. “By the way, I'm also here for you-know-what.”

Yang gave off the most startled expression humanly possible, and sounded _haunted_ at the idea of this girl getting involved in the business. “Are you _absolutely_ _sure_ that you want in on this? You seem too young and innocent to be getting mixed up with these guys I'm with. I only ever got involved because single mothers like mine earned jack shit, and being an apprentice mechanic only earns me so much.”

Ruby smiled devilishly. “Well, I've served in the Special Forces as a sniper, and found it boring. So the minute you told me on the phone that you'd been boosting cars for an up-and-coming mafioso, I felt that I'd join in after getting to know you.”

Yang shuddered internally as she reflected on this. _What sort of girl gets into_ _**the Special fucking Forces** _ _as a sniper at the age of twenty, and calls it_ _**boring**_ _?!_ Yang didn't have long to ruminate however, as the two people she was sent to pick up for her boss had arrived. A pale, white-haired girl in a light blue suit, looking as though she'd foregone sleep for a few weeks, was trailing behind a Vietnamese man in Australian military dress. _Clearly,_ Yang observed sympathetically, _he served with our boys in the war. Too bad that won't earn him a lick of respect from the average Joe_.

“Yang Xiao Long?” the girl asked, speaking with a thick German accent.

“That's me,” Yang replied with a smile and an extended hand.

The girl shook it. “I'm Weiss Schnee, and he's Lie Ren.”

Ren nodded. “It's good to be here in the lucky country, I must say”.

“And who's the girl in the red dress?”, Weiss asked.

“That's Ruby Rose, my half-sister and former army sniper, who's also opted to join our venture.”

“Pleased to meet you both,” Ruby said happily. Weiss and Ren, baffled for an instant at the Mancunian's warmth, smiled and shook hands with the girl.

“Shall we load in our gear and head to yours, sister?”

“Load in the car by all means; I've got to make a call before we leave.”

Ruby nodded, and the three new arrivals hauled their bags into the car. Yang, meanwhile, had found a payphone and dialled a certain number.

“Hello boss, it's Yang here. I've picked up the two recruits you asked for, as well as a third recruit we weren't expecting ... Yes, an ex-Special Forces sniper ... What the – how did you know about my sister? … I've asked before for you not to read my post like that ... Ugh, never mind. We're all coming up now. See you within the hour.”

* * *

 As Yang drove west down the crowded M5 in the blazing Australian heat, Ruby stared out the window with some wonder at the city her father and sister came from. Looking towards the rear of the car, Ruby noticed that Weiss and Ren were doing the same. _Everything's so big_ , Ren realised, having never known much asides from crowded shanty towns and the fields of war. Weiss, meanwhile, was marvelling at the prosperity and lack of soldiers walking around the streets. _All the hell I endured when escaping East Berlin was truly worth it_ , she reflected. After turning south into an area between Heathcote and Campbelltown known as the Vale, Yang pulled into a four-bedroom, two-storey home which lay on the southern edge of town.

“Weiss and Ren, this place is where you two will be staying. I live next door, so Ruby will join me there.”

As the quartet unloaded their luggage, the front door opened. Ruby found herself staring down a sight for sore eyes; a raven-haired Italian woman wearing a purple kimono. Hazel eyes met silver, and a slight smile formed on the Italian's lips.

“Welcome, all of you,” said the newcomer with an exotic, vibrant accent that evenly blended Australian and Italian. “I'll help you two load in. Yang, feel free to load your sister's things into your house.“

As Yang set to work, Ruby followed Weiss and Ren into the woman's house. The first thing she noticed was a level of opulence which seemed out of place for the area they found themselves in. Second was an ostentatious wardrobe which stood in place on the far wall of the lounge; Ruby guessed that it had a false wall and passageway within it, ostensibly to a room where either guns or drugs were being stored. Ruby opted to wait while her enigmatic host led Weiss and Ren into the two upstairs bedrooms. As they set to work unpacking their bags and settling down, the Italian girl decided to get to know her latest prospect.

She quickly dressed herself in a white dress shirt with matching jeans and a black belt, then adorned herself further with a purple scarf, black trenchcoat, and thigh-high black boots. After examining herself in her mirror, she descended into the lounge.

“I believe an introduction is in order. My name is Blake Belladonna, and I'm your prospective boss.”

Ruby nodded. “Honoured to meet you, Blake. My name is Ruby Rose, and I'm here to cause hell.”

Blake smirked slightly; here was a young woman after her own heart. Blake sat down, motioning Ruby to do the same.

“Well, _tesoro_ , I may as well tell you what I'm here to do. My father was a mafioso, and he was the sort that commanded respect from everyone and never needed to use violence against rivals or innocents, such was his skill at negotiation and diplomacy. However, things got ugly after he dared suggest that working with non-Italians was good for the business. The other mafiosi smoked him and his associates at their quarterly business meeting, which happened five years ago to this day. I was still in school then, and decided that instead of bawling my eyes out, I would exact revenge when I was old enough.”

Ruby nodded, feeling a rush of empathy for Blake. “I'm sorry to hear that, Blake, and I know exactly what you're going through. Last year, I lost my mother when she was abducted and murdered by the IRA in Belfast, and if I hadn't been discharged I'd have taken the bastards out”. Blake nodded, her expression softening at Ruby's response.

“Well, you might be interested in what I'm set to do tonight.” Ruby snapped to attention. “The remaining mafiosi are meeting again this evening to be reimbursed for exporting half a ton of heroin to New Zealand last month, and I want to wreak vengeance. I've already got a plan for taking them out, but I'll need help picking off anyone who escapes. Yang's already told me of your service as a sniper in the Special Forces, so I'll have you keeping watch from a safe vantage point while I handle the main business.”

Ruby smiled slightly. “Sounds good. Are we getting any other help on this?”

* * *

Right on cue, the front door opened, and Ruby found herself resisting the urge to shag the daylights out of the goddess who now dominated her vision. This woman, tanned and tall, was everything Ruby could have wanted in a partner. Light auburn hair, green eyes, luscious curves … Ruby felt like drooling at the sight of her. However, with great presence of mind, Blake had decided to snap her newest employee's trance painfully short (and prevent said drooling), by means of pinching Ruby's shoulder with the strength of a scorpion's pincer.

“As a matter of fact,” Blake continued as Ruby's attention reasserted itself, “we do have help. Ruby, meet our driver, Pyrrha Nikos. And Pyrrha, this is our latest recruit, Ruby Rose.”

“Pleased to meet you, Ruby,” said Pyrrha maternally.

Ruby stood up to shake her hand, and did so with a twinkle in her eye. “Likewise, Pyrrha,” she said with a sultry tone that outranked her age.

Pyrrha, to her credit, managed to retain her composure – though Blake spotted the slight blush that manifested on Pyrrha's cheeks.

“Well, now we're acquainted, shall we get started on our mission, Blake?”

Blake nodded and rose from her seat, leading the other two towards the wardrobe. “Yes, we shall. Now that we've got a trained sniper in our midst, the plan needs to be slightly different. Drop me off at the corner of Menagerie and Kuokuana, then take Ruby into the parking building on the other side of the corner. She'll be responsible for sniping off anyone who dares escape. Once I walk towards the parking building, pick me up and drive away _without_ arousing suspicion. Any questions?”

The two subordinates shook their heads in near-perfect synchronisation. “Very well. Let's head to the basement.”

Opening the wardrobe, Blake slid back the false panel, and led Pyrrha and Ruby into the basement. Ruby had to contain herself, such was the amount of weaponry on offer. Blake had clearly taken full advantage of the lax gun laws in New South Wales, having stocked her basement with pistols, sub-machine guns, and tons of ammunition. Still, Ruby had something in her possession which she alone opted to use for this field of work. She'd carried this to Australia without fear of detection. And even if it had been discovered, the authorities would have been shown her honourable discharge and let it slip through. Reaching inside the small of her jacket, Ruby produced the lone memento of her life in England – a 7.62mm L42A1 sniper rifle which she had painted red, with black accents and silencer.

“Would this little baby do the job any service, Blake?”

After taking in just how prepared Ruby was for this task, Blake responded with dangerous enthusiasm. “Oh, _hell_ yes. That's perfect for our purposes here. I'll just retrieve my little friend and we'll be off.”

Blake selected her deep purple 5.56mm M16-A1 and its silencer, and picked out two magazines for herself and one for Ruby. “Efficiency is the key, ladies. Let's not waste a bullet more than we need.”

* * *

 As the three budding mafiosi clambered up from the basement and out of the house, the balmy summer evening provided a nice backdrop to Blake's revenge.

“Just so you know, rookie,” informed Pyrrha, “it's a short drive to the place, and we won't be engaging until it's dark. Also, I'm sure that Blake's already told you this, but _please_ leave the main business to her. Don't go rushing in to help if you hear screaming or anything.”

Ruby nodded. Blake picked up three sets of plastic gloves and some earmuffs, giving Ruby one pair of the former as they entered Pyrrha's car. It was a _majestic_ 1975 Ford Mustang II, painted metallic red with a black decal on the hood, as well as a functioning hood-scoop. Ruby, as the junior partner, sat in the back seat, while Pyrrha drove and Blake rode shotgun to their destination.

The sky was just starting to darken when the trio rolled up at the corner of Menagerie Street and Kuokuana Avenue, at the edge of Vale's industrial sector in the south east. The neighbouring factories were all shut at this time of year and night, making it perfect for some quiet mayhem. Pyrrha parked inside the bottom of the three storey parking building, waiting for a quarter of an hour before total darkness settled upon Sydney.

Blake exited the vehicle with her father's M16 concealed in her trenchcoat, and waited to cross the corner as Pyrrha drove up to the top floor, which was open-air with a metre-high concrete wall around its edge. Pyrrha parked the Mustang at the closest corner to the club, and Ruby exited with her L42A1 in hand. She moved over a few rather full bins and lined them up to form an L-shape with Pyrrha's car, giving Ruby a level of shielding from the street if her nest was discovered. Peeking over the top, she made eye contact with Blake. They nodded at each other, and Blake strode briskly across the street.

The building she approached was one of a large number of gentleman's clubs in Sydney, but Blake knew the clientele it truly catered to. It was closed to the public on Christmas Eve, though the black mini-bus parked near the street corner suggested a private function was taking place. Thinking quickly, Blake slashed the rear tires with her combat knife, and decided to avoid the half-dozen guards at the front. Skipping through a crack in the wire fence and leaning hard along the Menagerie Street wall, Blake took a breath and quickly skulked between two thick hedges, which protected her from prying eyes.

She peeked at the rear wall, noting that there were two scrawny guards keeping an eye on a van, which had been parked along the massive retaining wall that ran parallel to Kuokuana Avenue.  _That van must be where the cash is stored_ , Blake quickly realised, _and the feckless Albain twins are on guard duty. All too easy._ Blake smirked as she aimed, and inflicted two fatal headshots before the guards had the time to gasp. Even though no silencer eliminated the noise completely, the murmur that emanated from behind the closed basement door masked the remainder perfectly, along with the birdsong from the eucalyptus trees surrounding the club.

Skulking over to the guards, Blake dragged their corpses behind the van and frisked the two. Finding a set of keys, Blake opened the van and beheld four rather full duffel bags of money. _Easily ninety thousand in here_ , the mobster thought as she checked their weight. Hiding the cash between the hedges, Blake donned the smaller guard's bullet-proof vest and walked into the service entrance next to the basement entrance.

As soon as Blake walked from the van, Pyrrha, with great presence of mind, retrieved the money bags and hauled them out of the rear grounds. She hurriedly scrawled an explanation on the back of an old receipt and left it there, and managed to cross the street with the bags just before Blake's carnage started.

* * *

As she entered the kitchen, Blake noticed straight away that it was totally vacant. _Of course,_ Blake remembered; _their wives would've given them a basket each to share out for this little Christmas function_. Stepping into the dumbwaiter, Blake lowered herself down into the basement canteen area. From this vantage point, she noticed that the food wasn't placed within said area, meaning that the mafiosi were dining at the present moment. The corrugated sheetmetal roller door was deployed in front of the serving counter, meaning that Blake's movements were unseen. The only door to the dining room stood locked, mercifully, and Blake felt safe getting out of the cramped dumbwaiter. Rolling quietly to the floor, Blake drew her loaded weapon and waited for the exchange to start.

The two most feared mob bosses in the Vale were seated around either side of a conference table in the basement bar. On the left side sat Sienna Sovrano, and the right side featured Alessandro de Toro. Each of them had brought their consigliere, underboss, and their two must trusted captains, with their foot soldiers guarding the front of the premises. All of Sovrano's White Tiger gang and all of de Toro's Black Fang group were in attendance.

Joining the to-be-amalgamated gang was their client and his associates, who'd flown in from New Zealand in their own private plane, with exactly $100,000 AU in notes. As the eating finished, the formality started. Sovrano and de Toro, though loathing each other's presence, had opted to let the other's gang control all crime in one half of Vale – with Sovrano governing the eastern crew and de Toro leading the western crew. They stood up together, and walked towards the importer, who hadn't revealed his name to avoid incrimination.

“Gentlemen,” the importer drawled in the typical Auckland accent, “the heroin shipment was a complete success. Our coffers are full with product that we can give our countrymen at cost for the next three years. Have you two agreed on how the shares are being split?”

The two mafiosi nodded. “We're dividing ninety-percent of it between the White Fang coalition evenly,” Alessandro confirmed.

“The other ten percent will go to paying off the cooks who made the merchandise,” Sienna added.

“Very good. Now, we've had the Albain twins guard the cash outside for most of the meeting,” the client stated, “but by now, they should have put the dough in the dumbwaiter, right behind this roller door. Let's open it.”

Blake steeled herself as footsteps grew ever closer to her position, then slid on her earmuffs as they stopped and the roller door was gripped. As soon as the roller door moved half an inch above the countertop, Blake's rampage of vengeance began … by shooting the two volunteers in their groins. As they bent double, a pair of headshots put the men to rest. Blake ducked down, however, as the mobster on her left used the last of his strength to send the roller door flying up to the ceiling. As far as Sovrano and de Toro were concerned, their underbosses seemed to have been murdered by the Invisible Man. With the mobsters seated in shock, the clients called in the guards as they ran for the stairs to the front door. Before anyone of them recovered enough to draw a weapon, a voice _brimming_ with primal fury yelled out to them.

"GHIRA BELLADONNA ERA _UN UOMO D'ONORE_ , E TU TAGLIARE LUI GIÚ IN SANGUE FREDDO. _VENDETTA_ HA VENUTO PER VOI, TU _**MADRE-FOTTUTI**_ _ **FIGHE** **!!**_ "

Sienna could only whisper a horrified _“J-jesus Fuck!_ ” before he deep-throated two bullets.

* * *

Blake felt only one thing when conducting her first (and only) mass murder; duty. Neither pleasure nor remorse, neither happiness nor bitterness. Just grave, metronomic duty, as her father would always say. In stark contrast to her mental space, Blake's physical body moved like a ghost around the room, having trained herself into becoming a veritable blossom of death and misdirection when she acted. Having taken out the underbosses and Sovrano first, she opened by picking off the soldiers, who fired wildly with silenced Bushmaster pistols as they dropped to the ground. _Good,_ she thought, _the illusion of a wild firefight will be useful here. Of course, I'm using the same calibre of bullet as the White Fang, so this will be_ _easy_ _for me to mask later_ _._

She managed to kill half of them before de Toro kicked down the door with his old carbine gun in hand, and ran around the corner. However, Blake ducked under his gun, punched him in the nuts and knocked him out with the butt of her rifle, picking up his antique and clasping it into her jacket's velcro holster as she reloaded her rifle. She fired upon the remaining soldiers in the room, dropping de Toro's pair of captains first.

After taking down the other half of the soldiers as she reached for the Sovranos, she impaled one of Sovrano's captains with the other one's bayonet-tipped shotgun. Quickly headshotting them both, Blake next picked up two steak knives and expertly flung them at the cowering consiglieres. One got hit _through_ _his left eye_ as he fell, while the other one suffered a deep stab wound a centimetre above his heart.

Taking stock of the corpses, Blake turned to see the writhing form of Alessandro de Toro scrambling off of the floor right behind her. Without flinching, she kneecapped him _twice_ , and muffled him as he tried to scream. When he'd finished, she let go and trained her rifle at his head.

“You filthy _puttana_ ,” he groaned contemptuously, struggling to hold himself in a dignified position with two shattered knees. “Your dickheaded father paid his price for breaking Mafia law. You had no legitimate reason to do what you just did.”

Blake scowled testily, and retorted with a level of venom that outranked Stan Zemanek. “You're one to talk; you're the _figa-mangiatore_ that got the White Fang into drug-dealing, even though both Sovrano _and_ my father _detested_ that line of work. Your argument is as invalid as you are, Sandy de Toro … or, as anyone with half a brain called you, _Sandra Bullshit_.”

The old maifoso growled; _no-one_ who valued their life ever _dared_ call him that.

“And as far as my old man was concerned, he was trying to make sure _everyone_ profited from this line of work – and not just the elitist _stronzi_ who could barely stand each other's company, let alone work with others outside their racist bubble. So on his behalf, I will make organised crime inclusive to all who would swear fealty to me. However, you're the _pezzo di merda_ who led him to his doom and shot him first. And your presence is no longer tolerated.”

With that, Blake kicked him onto the ground, reached for his carbine, and _literally_ tore the old traitor a new arsehole with it.

* * *

Having managed to flee the sudden carnage, the importer and his associates ran outside the building. After waiting until the bullets stopped, they got through the front gate and wedged themselves between the fence and the black minibus – landing right in Ruby's line of fire.

“Shit,” their second-in-command cursed between breaths, “that got close. Let's hope that madwoman didn't get a sniper involved.”

“That's bollocks,” the leader said haughtily. “The parking building is too obvious for the standard mob sniper to take an undetectable shot, and the next high ground is two blocks away. You wouldn't be able to hit a beached whale at that dist-”.

The four watched in abject horror as their boss became a scatter-brained man. As it turned out, the importer _actually_ _had_ been right about the difficulty of the untrackable shot, but his assailant _wasn't_ a standard mob sniper.

Ruby, who'd picked up the conversation at the edge of her hearing, found this to be _juicily_ ironic.

“Well,” the newly-minted delegation leader stated shakily, “best not to tempt fate”. He earned a perforated brain cavity for his trouble.

“Let's just live and run,” advised the next new leader, as he turned to run before Ruby dropped him.

“Let's stop talking and - ” said the next piece of sniper fodder, pausing as he _became_ sniper fodder.

“AND _WHAT_?!”, whispered the last man with extreme panic. As he started to crouch behind a thick tree next to the minibus, he adopted a pant-shitting expression that seared itself in Ruby's memory; it would give her delight aplenty in the following years.

“Don your brown pants, arsehole!”, the red reaper called out. Unwisely, her target stood up indignantly.

“These _are_ brown pants, you bit–” “Pew!”

And Ruby's mind-blowing performance was complete, just in time for Blake to get out of the club and approve of the carnage. Mercifully, the importers had fallen all around a storm drain, with their wounds oozing blood into said drain. Blake then dragged the five inside the basement with her second, clean set of disposable gloves.

After painting the scene to appear like a shootout, the hit woman removed her earmuffs and gloves. Throwing the gloves into a garbage bag which Pyrrha provided, Blake reached for a towel behind her seat while Ruby smiled calmly as Pyrrha drove them home.

“Ruby, I must admit that your skills are better than even I surmised.”

“Well, Blake, I'm confident that the so-called White Fang will never rise again. Not a single one escaped you or me tonight. We'll have a toast to that once we get back.”

However, Blake and Ruby both missed one man. Specifically, a young, red-haired teenager was running ridiculously late to the meeting when he chanced upon the scene of the murders, arriving a full hour after what got dubbed the Menagerie Street Massacre by the Daily Telegraph next morning.

Adamo de Toro, who was set to be the newest member of the White Fang, gasped in abject horror at the blood-drenched scene. Whoever killed his father and his colleagues _clearly_ meant business. Shedding tears for the first and only time in his life, Adamo ran over to the nearest payphone and alerted the cops to the scene.

 _Only one person I know of could've had reason for doing this_ , Adamo reflected as he waited, _and she was little more than a kid when it happened. She wouldn't have known about the meeting, let alone the place. Perhaps one of the captains had an unresolved beef with another and the rest got caught in the crossfire._ He sat in the phone booth, sobbing into his hands at the loss of the _family_.

* * *

As Hell's swimming pool was discovered by the police seven blocks over, the three mobsters had returned and hidden their weapons back in the basement. As they removed their earplugs and emerged from the wardrobe, Yang was standing to attention along with Weiss and Ren.

“What's going on, Yang?”, enquired Blake with the faintest edge of anxiety.

“I've gone and gotten some kebabs for the completion of the job, as well as celebrating the formation of the gang.”

Weiss and Ren each handed out a kebab to Pyrrha and Blake, while Yang handed two to Ruby. “Head next door with some beer, Ruby, and let the other member of our gang know what's happening. I've got a business proposition to take care of.”

“No worries, sis! I'll grab that six-pack on the table and lure them over.”

As Ruby walked over to her new home with the kebabs and a six-pack of Cooper's Light Dinner Ale to Yang's bungalow, she beheld a sight that defied all logical thought. A short, ginger-haired girl was unicycling _nude_ on Yang's front porch. _Clearly_ , Ruby observed, _this girl's as high as a kite on some_ _**real** _ _good dope_. After she fell off, the ginger stumbled towards the wall and propped herself up with it, only noticing a startled Ruby when she spun around suddenly with a dressing gown in her hand.

“Oh, hello there, _schat_ ,” greeted the newcomer with what Ruby figured was a slight Dutch accent. “I'm Nora Valkyrie, supplier and accountant to Blake, and the girlfriend to Yang.”

“Well, I'm Ruby, and I'm Yang's younger sister. Pleased to meet you, Nora. So, er … how come you were unicycling with nothing on?”

Nora smiled toothily as she donned the gown. “Well, Yang accused me of being unbalanced; I was just making sure I wasn't!”

Ruby smirked. “Very well. Blake wanted you to come to hers for the official formation of the gang – kebab and beer provided.”

“Okie-dokie. Let's go!”

With her smirk even more pronounced, Ruby watched Nora giggle her head off as she staggered on to Blake's house. _This is going to be a good place to live_ , she realised.

Returning to Blake's house, Ruby opened the door and led an unsteady Nora through. Upon seeing Nora's state, Yang and Pyrrha were slightly peeved, while Ren and Weiss seemed baffled and Blake looked drily dismissive. Handing Nora her kebab and beer, Ruby turned to face her new-found friends and colleagues as Blake delivered a toast after closing the door.

“Tonight, we raise our glass to the end of the White Fang, and to the rise of the Bellas. We will be the beautiful angels who will protect Vale's streets from any and all who don't swear fealty to us. We will commit lesser crimes, but only to prevent worse tragedies. To the Bellas!”

“To the Bellas!”, the gang chorused, raising and downing their drinks.

“The only people we need now are a lawyer and an organiser,” Yang continued, “but I have a pretty good idea about who I can draft in.”

“Good call, Yang,” Blake responded. “Now, let's eat and get pissed.”

“AMEN!”

* * *

**A/N: Greetings. First off, punny titles are the best.**

**Secondly, I hope I translated the Italian correctly. In English, the sentence Blake screams out goes like this: “Ghira Belladonna was a made man, and you felled him in cold blood. Vengeance has come for you, you motherfucking cunts!!” If my translation wasn't accurate, please let me know.**

**For the record folks, I've posted this on Fanfiction as well, but the rules of that site mean that I'll need to edit my work a bit to post it on there. On this site, I'm posting the unedited version for you all to enjoy. And just a heads up: the rape warning only applies twice in the story, and I'll be sure to leave a warning at the top of the chapters they appear in. That aside, everything sexual you'll see in this fanfic is consensual.**

**Anyway, I hope you guys have enjoyed this first entry. I'll try my best to upload it as much as I can, but my jobseeking after university will hamper my efforts a bit. So I'll shoot for once a month at the least, if not more often.**


	2. 1989

### Chapter Two: 1989

It was half past two in the afternoon on January the 26th, 1989 – Australia Day, or Invasion Day as the Aboriginals called it. Beacon Avenue in Vale proved to be a hub of activity every time this event rolled around, with the Belladonna residence's backyard containing a number of people gathered together for Australia's traditional celebratory banquet – the humble barbecue. Yang Xiao Long, expert mechanic and the heart of the Bellas, was doing her duty as the gang's chief pyromaniac by cooking the wide selection of meats for the occasion. Having roasted a few kilos of lamb on a spit for three hours with Ruby's assistance, Yang had turned her attention to the snags, chops and marinade.

Yang slaved over the barbecue for almost an hour while Ruby carved up the kebab meat, Blake set the table and breads, and Ren laid out the salads and rice dishes. Mercifully, Pyrrha had shown up just before their crews arrived with an amazing amount of Greek salad and pita bread, allowing Yang to serve her special kebabs and giving everyone in attendance some degree of choice over what their lunch consisted of. As for Weiss and Nora, they provided the alcohol, and woe betide anyone who attempted to prevent Nora from pouring out the drinks to the attendees. For the other hosts, letting the crazy Dutch girl tend bar wasn't a case of losing all sense of sanity, but it was either let Nora do it or watch Weiss drink half the booze by herself.

While the crazy lesbians handled the cooking and tended bar, Ruby decided to recline with Pyrrha around the family room television, cheering passionately as they watched the Aussies take on the West Indians at the SCG. Weiss and Ren, the newly engaged couple, decided to join in on the couch, having brought four bottles of Cooper's Pale Ale to share with the auburn lesbians.

And not a moment too soon; Allan Border promptly got his first wicket of the match.

“ _A shout of catch it, and Peter Taylor's done just that at mid-off._ ”

“ _Well, he's got a good record of getting high-order batsmen out; it's only his 17_ _th_ _wicket in Test cricket, and it's another high-order batsman, Richie Richardson._ ”

“Good job, AB!”, Ruby called out.

“No kidding, _baby Rube_ ,” Pyrrha punned, incurring both pleasure and disgust from her short partner and the engaged gangsters. “Good for the skipper to stick the boot in before the Windies get more runs.”

“No kidding, _Red Siren_."

Before Ruby could laugh at her disgusting pun, Pyrrha silenced her with a blow to the mouth _via_ throw pillow, much to Weiss and Ren's mutual amusement. In his next over, Border struck again.

“ _That's another catch, and taken by Geoffrey Marsh. Once again, the short one has done it._ ”

“Damn, that was close. Swampy caught that pretty well!”

“With you there, Ruby; it's unfortunate for Hooper to get out for a duck, but satisfying all the same,” Weiss affirmed. Even though cricket wasn't something she and Ren grew up playing like the others, they both found that the gentleman's game was every inch the thinking man's game too; they therefore enjoyed it as much as the rest of their cohorts. And not long after, Australia's skipper struck again, this time against the opposing captain.

“ _There's an appeal, he's gone! Richards caught, and well caught close in. Allan Border's third wicket._ ”

“ _Well, he wasn't very happy, the West Indian skipper. It was well caught._ ”

Ren spoke for the first time that afternoon. “This will be a day for history to remember.”

And it was. The next three hours made for compelling viewing as Allan Border tore through the world's dominant side with his underused spin bowling. The two couples were as high-spirited as they'd ever been, and the rest of the gang found their happiness adorable. Outside, the crews which Weiss, Ren, Pyrrha and Yang captained enjoyed the pool, food and booze on offer from the big boss, with a mixtape of the last decade's hits playing smoothly in the background. All in all, it was a really pleasant afternoon for the Bellas.

* * *

As “New Sensation” permeated the airwaves and the employees continued to partake in the festivities, Blake was meeting in the kitchen with the team's newly-promoted consigliere, previous co-underboss and long-time solicitor, who'd managed to stop working for a day to celebrate. The pair were introduced ten years ago to the day by Qrow Branwen. One of Sydney's most prominent barristers, Qrow was also Yang's uncle, and he duly attended the gang's party.

“A French-Canadian and an Italian meeting up for lunch? Sounds like the start of a joke to me!”, said Qrow acerbically.

Blake and the blonde man both cracked a laugh as Qrow went towards the food outside.

“By the way,” Blake said generously, “it's great to have you as consigliere, Mister Arc. I hope you're enjoying it.”

“Sure enough, _mademoiselle_ ,” he spoke in accented tones. “And I've asked you before, _please_ call me Jaune.”

“So Jaune, who's the young woman behind you?”, enquired Blake as she nodded towards a raven-haired, half-Korean vixen who was standing in the sliding doorway.

“That's my secretary, Cinder Fall, and she's my plus one for today. Come on over, Cinder!”

Cinder turned to face Blake as she walked over, and Blake _instantly_ got the creeps from looking at her. And not in the sense that she seemed nice but slightly off-kilter; instead, Blake noticed straight away that Cinder's expression was utterly unreadable, giving off a machine-like aura about her. Nevertheless, Cinder's voice was almost as friendly as Ruby's, and her eyes lit up e'er so slightly when she spoke.

“Hello, Ms. Belladonna. It's a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Blake's left eyebrow shot up like a springboard. “At last? Do you know what sort of woman I happen to be?”

Jaune leaned over and whispered into his boss's ear. “She wants in on our little venture. And no, I didn't tell her about it; she once lived with Junior. Not long enough to be introduced to us, but enough to know about you and your work.”

Blake nodded. _Of_ _ **course**_ _one of_ _Junior's used pets_ _ **had**_ _to walk into my turf_ , she bitterly lamented. _I hope she's nowhere near as broken as the last one that tried_.

* * *

“So, how are you able to help our little outfit, Cinder?”

Cinder smiled lightly. “Well, I can tell you what your original consigliere has gotten up to in the last few months.”

Blake jumped and looked positively _startled_ ; since she went missing, Blake wanted to know what had happened to her and _fast_. “I don't want any loose ends to stay loose, Cinder; _where is she_?!”

Cinder's expression softened as she whispered her reply. “The midget's said to be working with someone who's planning a massive redevelopment of the Vale.”

Jaune and Blake exchanged _horrified_ glances with each other; they _both_ knew that any redevelopment of Vale without their explicit input would spell the end of most of their activities – and _that_ wasn't allowable. Blake rounded on Cinder and spoke in a hurried, but low voice.

“We shall discuss this troubling information further, but your sleuthing skills are pretty handy. As a result of your resourcefulness, you are in as a probation member of the Bellas. Just one thing; when ringing one of the eight founders on the phone, refer to me and the other leaders in the Bellas by our call signs to avoid detection. Your call sign will be Hel, and mine is Odin. I'll leave it to Jaune to run you through the other member's call signs at his discretion.”

Cinder nodded, and Jaune took her aside as Blake moved outside to acquire some Cooper's Pale Ale. “The Bellas call signs are simple to remember, as they are based on Norse gods and their roles. I'm known as Loki, because of the legal trickery I use to get our people out of jail sentences. Nora, on account of her red hair, position in the hierarchy and capacity for drinking, is called Thor. Ruby and Yang are Ullr and Frey respectively. Ruby was an ex-Special Forces sniper and is also a capable survivalist, and it matched up closest with the god of archery and hunting. Yang's known as the Norse sun god because she's our head demolitionist and her name means “little sun” in Chinese.

"Ren, for his status as a war veteran and as chief of the murder squad, is known as Tyr. Weiss is referred to as Ran because she originally ran a smuggling operation in the Tasman Sea. And finally, Pyrrha's responsible for maintaining our weapons, watching over and looking after our members when they need medical attention, and providing alibis for the Bellas. She's our guardian angel, and therefore she is known as Heimdall.”

Cinder nodded, though looked a tad perplexed. “So ... how come I got the call sign of Hel? Also, do the lower ranks get call signs as well?”

Jaune thought for a moment before responding. “Well, the lower ranks are indicated by number and the person they work with. For instance, Ren's second-in-command would identify themselves as Tyr-2, and so on. I do have a list in my office for each of the gangs, which I'll copy out for you when work kicks back in.”

Cinder nodded, though her eidetic memory would still be as faithful as always.

“And secondly, Blake's extremely good at reading people; both her insight and her status as leader earned her the call sign of Odin. She's already grassed that nothing escapes your attention or memory. Likewise, Hel, the goddess of death, never let a single thing escape the afterlife or anything. Also, she was the daughter of Loki, therefore the naming convention applies quite nicely.”

* * *

As the afternoon wore on, Qrow decided to head back home to complete some last minute legal work. Now that he'd left, the Bellas were in a comfortable position to say whatever they pleased about their true occupation. But before anyone else could kick off that line of conversation, Blake and her captains led in the entirety of the Bellas into the dining and family rooms, which were fused together in an “open plan” manner. Yang and Nora handed out and refilled drinks for their employees, as Blake stood tall in front of the television.

“First thing's first,” Blake began, “I must thank the entirety of you for doing the work no-one with a normal brain dares to do, in the name of keeping Vale safe from anyone who dares sully our fair side of town.”

The group nodded; there seemed to be almost no end of thugs or unscrupulous developers who would lay waste to their home. Raising her champagne, Blake led the Bellas toast. “The Vale prevails.”

“The Vale prevails,” chorused the Bellas, raising and downing their drinks as one.

“As most of you know, this day marks the tenth anniversary of our founding. And I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the other seven who started it all with me.”

Blake began with approaching her consigliere and underboss. “First, I'd like to thank our original underbosses. As we all know, Jaune has been promoted recently to consigliere, and I'd like to thank him for both his lifesaving work with his legal trickery, and for his sagely counsel and tremendous work ethic. And as for Nora, I thank my oldest friend for her sheer talent for accounting and organisation, which has proven pivotal in expanding and maintaining our business.”

The Bellas started to refill their glasses, as Blake then approached her captains in turn. “Then there are my other oldest friends, Yang Xiao Long and Pyrrha Nikos. Yang's expert skill with mechanics secured us a powerful front business, and Pyrrha's management skills helped expand that business to heights the average car salesman could only dream of. Not to mention their innate ability to destroy and repossess anything they lay their eyes on, of course.”

The gang politely chuckled at that; Yang's knack for crafting IED's was impressive, and many a biker gang had been deterred with their hangouts getting torched. And for any would-be criminal who believed that the Vale was ripe for the picking, Pyrrha's car dealership was the only place they could go to acquire getaway cars under the table; unfortunately for them, Pyrrha had a habit of taking said cars back and/or tipping off the cops about the owners.

“Next, I thank Weiss over here for her valiant efforts at pushing drug owners out of business in our neck of the woods, and her fiancė Lie Ren for culling or reporting any would-be rapist or murderer in these streets. And last, but certainly not least, I thank Ruby for providing the best survival and sniping skills in all of Sydney to us. Thanks to her, we've never been caught disposing of a body or bumping off a challenger to my throne.”

Blake raised her refilled glass again. “To the Bellas!”, she toasted.

“To the Bellas!”, the gang replied. As Yang walked outside to turn off the barbecue and Jaune started dancing like an idiot to Yothu Yindi's first album, Ruby unmuted the television just in time to hear Tony Grieg and Ian Chappell lead the call when Australia's captain took wicket number five.

“ _That's in the air, and this could be out. Hughes is there; he's got him! Out! He went for the sweep shot, got a top edge, and Border has taken five wickets!_ ”

“ _His first five in a Test match, and his first five in first-class cricket! Not a bad time to get them. Viv Richards sitting there, looking_ _very_ _angry_ _at the moment with the way things are going._ ”

And the celebration went on.

* * *

That night, the eight remaining founders of the Bellas opted to eat the leftovers and play poker after their crews had left. While Ren and Weiss were setting up a game of Texas Hold-Em, Ruby and Pyrrha were gushing to Blake, Yang and Nora about the Test match they'd just borne witness to, and Yang was in _total_ disbelief at their story.

“You mean to tell me that Border got _seven_ against _the Windies_? When the fuck did he learn to bowl like that, Rubes?”

“Apparently, he started out as a bowler, like Sobers did, then worked his way up the batting order. Still, even _I_ didn't know he had a wrist as supple as Pyrrha's.”

Yang and Nora both burst out laughing and Blake chuckled heartily, as Pyrrha blushed a shade of red that outdid her hair.

“OK guys, poker is ready! Ren's dealing, and it's a $30 buy in,” announced Weiss over the laughter.

Yang, Blake, Ruby, and Pyrrha all accepted the terms while Nora and Jaune opted to watch the game unfold. Given that Nora and Jaune were too drunk to concentrate and hold a proper poker face, it seemed reasonable for the consigliere and underboss to give the match a miss. With $180 in the kitty and chips at the ready, the six mafiosi were ready to play. After extensive shuffling, Ren dealt the group two cards each. Long years of service in the Bellas meant that their poker faces were unreadable.

After Blake threw in the big blind and Weiss the small blind, Ren then looked at his cards and promptly folded. Ruby took a squizz at hers, and duly put in three blue coins. Yang's suspicions were immediately aroused. _What on Earth does she have in that hand_ , she wondered mentally. However, her worries evaporated when she spied _her_ hand – a pair of nines – and Yang duly equalled Ruby's ante. Pyrrha, noticing her hand, deliberated for a moment before matching the ante. Blake looked at her cards for half a second before folding, and Weiss struggled to make a decision before acquiescing and matching the ante.

“All right, Ren, deal out the flop.”

“Sure thing, snow angel,” Ren replied warmly. In order, Ren dealt out the nine of hearts, queen of diamonds, and jack of clubs.

Ruby decided to throw a pair of greens into the mix, with Yang, Pyrrha and Weiss all opting to match her raise.

“Clearly, this is going to be one hell of a showdown,” observed Jaune astutely.

“Like the time we took out those drug cooks in '84,” recalled Nora fondly to the table's general amusement.

Yang, however, heaved slightly at the memory; it was the only time Nora had ever worked in the field, and she'd gone and used an illegally-sourced _grenade launcher_ to dispose of a group of unusually violent weed growers who'd holed up in their turf. It was a sheer miracle that Yang and Blake were there and able to prevent the resultant firestorm from erupting out of control.

After Yang calmed down a tad, Ren dealt the turn – the queen of hearts. The four players knocked on the table, indicating that the stakes at the moment were fine for them. Ren finally dealt the river – the nine of spades. Ruby merely knocked on the table. Yang, on the other hand, felt more impulsive and went all in. Given that she had _four nines_ , this was justifiable to an extent. Pyrrha, after an agonising length of deliberation, followed through and also went all in. Weiss, feeling confident with her hand, opted in on this. Ruby, still displaying her poker face, went all in as well. The four players threw down their cards, starting with Yang. 

“Four nines, bitches!”.

Pyrrha slammed her pair of jacks down angrily. “A full bloody hand”, she ruefully grumbled.

Weiss, even more angry, laid down the ten of clubs and eight of hearts gently, and bristled. “A queen-high straight,” was her low-voiced response.

Ruby, after a brief pause, calmly put her queen of clubs and queen of spades down. “Four queens!”

The entire table gasped, then promptly exploded in laughter, Ruby smiling sweetly as Yang went ballistic.

“ _ **For fuck's sake** **!**_ Of _course_ I'm the sap who just _has_ to lose with _four of a bloody kind_ in _my hand_. _**Mother-fucker!** _ ”

Jaune fell off his chair laughing as Ruby picked up her winnings. The night was truly a welcome one in their lives.

* * *

The following day, a slightly hungover Cinder reported into Jaune's law firm an hour earlier than usual, arriving at quarter to eight in the morning. _If I am to be welcomed into this gang_ , Cinder reflected, _then I must find out exactly what my would-be cohorts actually_ _**do**_. Settling into her chair in front of Jaune's private office, she waited patiently for her boss and mentor to arrive. At the stroke of eight, Jaune strode inside confidently wearing his black pinstriped suit. A sky blue tie was the only relief of colour on his person, matching the colour of his eyes almost perfectly. As Jaune removed his jacket and approached his private office, he beckoned Cinder to follow him inside.

As they sat down, Jaune kicked off the conversation while locking the door.

“So, now you've managed to gain Blake's trust, I'm wondering that you want to know what our outfit actually does, correct?”

Cinder nodded, opting not to ask anything until Jaune had finished explaining what he _thought_ was enough information for her.

“As you now know, myself and Nora are the consigliere and underboss for Blake's outfit. That means that any legal work that needs doing is my responsibility, and that Nora's responsible for supplies, logistics and delegating orders. Since you answer to management directly, your work in this gang will come from Nora and no-one else. I can tell you, however, that your role in the group will be that of a private investigator, with a blank check to do whatever you need to expose and jail your marks. Got that?”

Again, Cinder nodded.

“Good. I may as well run you through the list of things we do here in Vale. Weiss and her crew run a coffee and ice cream shop on Vacuo Road during the day, and make drugs at night but don't deal them.”

Cinder's right eyebrow shot up at this. _The lack of drug-dealing in Vale was something I had wondered about; how come we don't deal drugs?_

As if reading her mind, Jaune answered her mental question.

“If you're wondering why we don't deal them, it's because we use them to jail people who want to. You see, Blake's got a huge contempt for drugs of all kinds, and doesn't want them dealt to anyone in her turf. So to spare potential bloodshed, Weiss decided to recruit the four best drug producers in the Vale as her crew. Under Blake's guidance, they plant their products on any wannabe cartel or dealer who invades their turf, then they phone in the police about their marks. Amazingly enough, it's actually _prevented_ drug pushing in the Vale for some years.”

Cinder nodded, a look of amazement plastered on her features. “I must say, I'm quite impressed with Weiss's lateral thinking, Jaune. You don't see that often enough in those circles.”

“Indeed. I did think you'd find that admirable,” Jaune remarked.

“Next, we have Pyrrha and Yang. Day-to-day, the pair run a car dealership on the corner of Patch and Sanus which also features an on-site mechanic/customisation shop. The thing is, it's a front business for their respective operations. Pyrrha runs our thieving/repossession crew, and Yang leads a crew which commits arson, builds explosives, and destroys evidence of the lesser crimes the gang commits. The crews themselves are the employees at the dealership, with Pyrrha's gang selling the cars and Yang's crew doing them up.”

Again, Cinder nodded mutely, showing considerable satisfaction with their skill at running two conjoined fronts _and_ two illegitimate businesses _at the same space_.

“Then there's the whacking crew. Ren leads this group, comprised of some of his old service mates, and they are involved in murdering, reporting and intimidating any rapists and murderers who dare assail our town. The genius thing behind it, though, is that Ren leads a crime-scene cleaning business, and his four crew members are his employees. This means that they know how to frame up a crime scene to make it look like suicide, a gang-related attack, or even like an accident, and they get to make money cleaning up the mess they make.”

Cinder smiled in vivid amusement. “A refuge in audacity; impressive.”

Jaune returned her smile with a nod. “Indeed it is. And finally, there's Ruby. She _only_ gets called in to serve when there's a particularly dangerous crime lord intruding in our neck of the woods, or when some hotshot cop starts sniffing too close for our comfort. She deals with them quietly and efficiently as our prime hitman, and she is also the main spy for the Bellas – meaning that your addition to the crew will help her out with the workload on that front, and I'm sure she'll be happy to tutor you. But do you know what makes her cover so solid? Ruby's day job is a primary school teacher – the _last_ person any sensible person would expect to work as a hitman.”

Cinder nodded, bewildered that such an optimistic and bubbly young woman would be the hardest killer in the Vale when called upon.

“And as for our leader, she spends her days running the 4-star Vytal Italian restaurant on the north end of Vacuo Road, co-owns the Aurora nightclub with Nora on Atlas Terrace, and is also a wedding celebrant. That's more than enough cover for the leader of our little business. Any questions?”

Cinder nodded. “A few. First of all, when will I receive my orders from Nora, and secondly, where do the Bellas meet and hide after jobs? Also, I'd like a copy of that call sheet you mentioned yesterday.”

Jaune nodded, and quickly wrote out the copy Cinder requested as he answered. “Nora arranged the first one with me as we left last night. Whenever Nora has orders for you, you'll be rung by her during the lunch break and assigned orders while myself and our colleagues are out eating. And secondly, there are multiple spots the Bellas use for meeting. Yang and Pyrrha's crews use their dealership's stock rooms, Weiss's group use the ice cream parlour when it's closed, and Ren's group use the basement at Nora's club when it's closed during the day. As for myself, Nora and Blake, there is a private office in the club that we use when discussing managerial stuff. However, when a crew goes to hide or when we need more than one crew in on a job, Blake's house serves as both our safehouse and clubhouse.”

Having being handed the copy of Jaune's call sheet, Cinder thanked him and returned to her desk. She could wait until lunch before meditating any further on what she'd just gotten herself into.

* * *

**A/N: First up: the cricket match actually _did_ happen in real life, and the commentary was taken from Channel Nine's coverage of the match in question.**

**Secondly, the finale was an absolute doozy. The Nuckelavee's scream will be giving me nightmares for a while, that's for sure.**

**Third, the "Red Siren" thing is a play on Red Symonds, who (for those who don't know) is a rather famous guitarist and media personality Down Under.**

**And last, I'd like to point out that the gang's name is also a reference to the Ballas gang in GTA V, and not _just_ an excuse to reference Goodfellas.**

**Anyhow, I hope you've enjoyed it so far.**


	3. Business As Usual

### Chapter Three: Business As Usual

The 30th was a slowish start for the staff at Real Steals on Wheels after the four-day weekend. At eight, Yang and Pyrrha arrived to open up their respective businesses. Pyrrha, almost Nora's equal at keeping books, was responsible for balancing their legitimate books, and nominally owned both the dealership and the mechanic shop.

Yang, meanwhile, handled the quality control for the cars Pyrrha sold over the counter, kept tabs on the customers under it, and scoured the newspapers regularly for any used cars they could do up and sell off, making the purchases herself on weekends. Their working partnership was complex, yet it enabled them to offer a level of services that put other automotive businesses to shame.

"So Yang," Pyrrha began as she exited her old Mustang, "how's the new ride working out for you?"

Yang smiled cockily as she showed off her thirty-third birthday present from the gang; a brand-spanking-new Holden Astra SLX sedan, complete with a gold paint job and modded engine from her crew. "Honestly, I'm loving this one. I was flabbergasted when Blake brought this over to mine at yesterday's piss-up. Still, it's about time the Torana was retired."

Pyrrha nodded. "That old baby got us out of many scrapes in our day. I'm amazed it's as intact as we are."

Yang nodded emphatically. "Agreed, P-money. By the way, I'm sure you'll _love_ what myself, Blake and Ruby all picked out for your birthday on Valentine's Day."

 _Of_ _ **course**_ _Yang would have a hand in picking something out for me_ , Pyrrha rued. _I just hope she understands my preference for Fords …_

As they walked in towards their dealership, Yang decided to ask the one thing she needed to complete the present. "Pyrrha, out of curiosity, what's your favourite colour?"

After a moment, Pyrrha responded. "Tawny. How come you asked?"

Yang shrugged. "Well, I never got to ask you that before, and was merely curious like I said."

"Ah, I see. It's an unusual colour, but it's strangely calming to me for some reason."

Yang nodded, as they parted to open up their respective offices.

* * *

At eight-thirty, Yang's squadron of mechanics arrived. The first to enter was a half-Thai man by the name of Brawnz Ni. The best mechanic of the group, Brawnz was also the crew's informant within the biker scene, and his tough-as-nails demeanour made him beyond reproach to wiser birds in the subculture.

The next to walk in was a half-Aboriginal man called Roy Stallion. In addition to servicing cars like the other staff, Roy was also the shop's upholsterer and woodworker. And when it came to his gang duties, Roy's talent for forgery was renowned amongst the underworld. He and Brawnz were coworkers of Yang's when she was still an apprentice, and they both had a hand in purchasing the land her dealership was built on.

As Roy and Brawnz walked to the changing room to suit up for their day's work, the last two crew members swanned in, holding hands and kissing each other. The male, Nolan Porfirio, was the electrician on the staff, but the Italian's true role was that of lead bombmaker. In the early days, this role was the province of Yang; she still had a hand in designing them these days, but she'd have gotten nowhere without his recruitment when she started her shop in the autumn of '81.

His paramour was May Zedong, a half-Chinese painter/detailer who doubled as the crew's arsonist. A relatively recent addition to the crew, May gained Yang's attention by breaking into and setting fire to her shed in '86. Yang quickly quenched the flames, then found May hiding behind the back fence. Back then, she was a homeless teenager who bartered all she pinched for food. Taking pity on her, Yang saw that May had a talent for graffiti art, and consequently trained her up as a painter.

As Yang turned to approach the mechanics, May caught up with her first. "What colour, boss?"

Yang paused for a second, then remembered. "Tawny."

"You got it; I'll need to track down a special paint mixture to do it properly, but it should be done within the week."

"Excellent, May."

Turning to face her staff, Yang began handing out her orders. "As far as legit work is concerned, May and myself will be busy with the special project all throughout this week. As for the quality control for it, I'll let Brawnz handle it next week. You cool with that?"

Brawnz nodded.

"Alright. Until then, I'll assign you to repair the Astra and the Jag. Roy, you're on servicing duty this week. And as for you, Nolan, I'll have you work on the bent accountant's car. I've made some inroads with the turbo and exhaust, but the sound system and _special seals_ need doing. Got it?" All four of her staff nodded.

"Now as for the gang work, our leader believes we're in a safe spot after the bikie turf war that went down last November. Brawnz, how are things looking on that front?"

"Bloody peachy, Yang. The aggressors have scampered back to Penrith and intend to stay there, while the Cronulla crew are licking their wounds and won't get any bright ideas about crossing us again."

Yang shuddered, remembering the night Ren presented a headless corpse for her to dispose of. "Anyone else hear of anything suspicious?"

May raised her hand. "I did, Yang, though it may be something for the entire gang to hear."

Yang promptly gave May her undivided attention. "Well, let's not waste time; Roy, use your recording tape."

As he got it to work, Yang focused on her painter/arsonist. "Now, tell us what you heard ..."

* * *

Pyrrha, meanwhile, had finished dusting off the cars surrounding her dealership and went inside. Throwing on the lights, Pyrrha moved towards the break room and fired up the boiler for her staff's coffee rounds. No sooner had the water inside finished boiling than the first of Pyrrha's four sales staff entered.

Nebula Violette, Pyrrha's longest-serving employee, was coffee-addicted in every sense of the word; in Pyrrha's estimation, Nebula wasn't human without one cup nestling inside her belly. Unusually for a saleswoman, her hair was dyed midnight purple, and had been ever since her coiffure went grey prematurely.

"Gwen will come later on the motorcycle, by the way; she had to deal with her father getting too drunk for his own good again."

Pyrrha's expression softened as she handed Nebula a tall black with none. "That's unfortunate. I'll be sure to give her a bit extra for handling that."

Nebula nodded politely with a grateful expression marking her features; not only was the Welsh lady her girlfriend, but the pair regularly had to handle unruly, lawbreaking family members outside their legit jobs. Indeed, Nebula's pickpocketing and Gwen's safe-cracking skills were handed down to them by their respective fathers.

As Nebula nursed her tall black back to her desk, Pyrrha poured out her white with two, along with a pair of black and ones. The minute she finished, the other two staff walked in with hot donuts for the room.

Dew Gayl, a tall Irishwoman with golden hair, was not only the best saleswoman the team had, but she had an innate talent for seduction that made the other girls somewhat jealous.

And as for Octavia Ember, the ginger Scot was the team's lead re-possessor, and doubled as the crew's burglar. The pair of them saw the most business in this place, legitimate and otherwise. As Octavia fetched her drink and put the dounts onto the table, Dew retrieved her coffee from her boss.

"Pyrrha, do you have a moment?"

Pyrrha gave her Irish employee her full attention. "What's on your mind, Dew?"

"I'm kind of stuck deciding which of the mechanics I want to get involved with."

Pyrrha snorted with an amused expression. "Dew, you've probably bonked half the gang by now; I'm sure you'll know which beefcake appeals to your tastebuds more."

Dew scowled as Octavia unleashed a spit take for the ages.

"If it's anything," Pyrrha relented, "I hear that Brawnz has a thing for you."

Dew's right eyebrow cocked up. "Does he, now? Well, I'll make sure he does when I get onto him."

As Dew walked to the reception with a predatory smile plastered on her lips, Pyrrha smirked and winked at Octavia, who smiled gratefully.

"Thanks Pyrrha; I actually got Roy to come for a third date tonight, so I'm glad you steered Dew away from him."

"No worries, Octavia."

Just then, a black Ducati 851 rolled into the alleyway, ridden by a raven-haired woman who resembled a gothic ballerina; none other than Gwen Darcy. When Octavia and Nebula went to welcome Gwen, Pyrrha retreated back to her office. As soon as she sat down, her phone rang.

* * *

Picking it up in a flash, Pyrrha got her customer service voice on. "Real Steals on Wheels Dealership and Mechanic Shop, how can I be of service?"

"Frey to Heimdall, do you confirm?"

Pyrrha snapped to attention. "I do confirm, Frey. What's the problem?"

"Let Odin know that I need to speak to her in my staff room, and you'll need to be there too. Something _huge_ has come up, and we need to let her know about it."

Pyrrha _instantly_ felt nauseous; if Yang saw fit to bring _Blake_ into something, then the Bellas were under considerable threat. "Understood, Frey. I'll ring Odin now. Heimdall out."

Putting down the phone, Pyrrha composed herself for a minute before she rang the Vytal's office phone. "The Vytal Italian restaurant, how can I help you?"

"Heimdall to Odin, do you confirm?"

"I do confirm, Heimdall. What's going on?"

"Frey's caught onto something that she believed needed your attention. She needs to see the pair of us in her staff room."

Blake nodded. "Very well. Let Frey know I'm coming there at twelve on the dot."

"Will do. Heimdall out."

As the clock struck noon that day, a dark purple sedan rolled into the staff entrance. Blake jumped out of her '87 Toyota Corona, and walked straight into Yang's end of the business. Pyrrha and Yang were waiting inside Yang's office, with a portable cassette deck on top of Yang's desk. "Don't waste my time," Blake decreed, "roll the tape."

* * *

_Ten minutes later ..._

"... So you're saying that this Roman Torchwick character actually submitted a development application for the land rights to all the run-down parts of the western and southern ends of town? What on earth for?"

"Yang, I honestly don't know for sure, and my brother in the state's planning department doesn't know either. But there are murmurs going around that he plans to dispossess the poor from the area. Someone I spoke to actually said that he did this somewhere in Brisbane from '86 until '88.

"Apparently, he seized most of the land rights to one of the roughest districts of the city and turned the area into a gentrified shit heap. He also managed to take over the crime trade in that area, and made its members go from petty thieving and growing weed to dealing heroin and bank robbing.

"If his investment in the Amity is any indication, leading gullible yuppies to a rough area and robbing them blind is a kink of his – but according to my source, he packed up and left the criminals behind as easy pickings when the cops wised up to his actions – so we'll need to be discreet and decisive in dealing with him."

"May, you're getting a bonus for this; I'll see to that personally. Anyway, it's nearly nine, so carry on with the jobs I've assigned you guys. In the meantime, I'll take the tape and ring our bosses; I've got a good idea of who to call in for this mission."

The tape finished. Blake and Pyrrha looked decidedly anxious about this information as Yang turned to face them. "So boss, what shall we do about this?"

"Let me think this over, Yang."

Blake leant back on the wall, concentrating on her plan for a few minutes until she spoke.

"Yang, I believe you wanted Cinder in on this mission?"

Yang nodded resignedly; Blake had read her mind like an open book. "Well guessed, Blake. I would've gotten Ruby to deal with this, but her teaching gig's always busy this time of year. New students and so on. So I'm asking for Cinder. If she's able to assist us, I'd get onto her quick smart about this if I were you."

"There's another advantage to getting her help," Pyrrha added; "we'll find out what she's capable of achieving as a spy."

Blake nodded. "Very well. Yang, you and I shall waltz over to the Aurora and let Nora know; we may as well go by standard protocol and have her call Cinder. Pyrrha, we'll return within an hour."

* * *

Half an hour later, Cinder was just starting to eat her sushi when a call came to her desk. "Arc and Partners Head Office, how can I help you?"

"Thor to Hel, do you confirm?"

"Of course, Thor. I do confirm. What do you have for me?"

"Frey and Odin just finished speaking to me about some troubling news. You were right about the developer, _schat_."

Cinder exhaled deeply; Junior's ability to extract correct information out of anyone and anywhere was remarkable. Never mind the fact she'd heard _this_ tidbit in passing as she left his dungeon for the last time.

"Very well. What is the will of Odin?"

"I've learned that this developer, a Mr. Roman Torchwick, has a large stake in the Amity on Mistral. Find out from the staff there if he's having a business lunch or something like that in the near future, then spy on the meeting if you can."

A shark's smile began to form on Cinder's features. "Consider it done, Thor. Hel out."

* * *

At the end of the day, a tired Yang was getting her back massaged by Nora. "I'm not feeling all that chipper about the news May gave us today. I'll be losing sleep over this until we stop the bastards."

"Oh cheer up, _mein schat_ ," Nora replied warmly, pressing a little harder into Yang's shoulders. "We've defended this turf from all comers for ten long years, and we've never lost a single soul in the line of duty. As far as I am concerned, we'll handle this easily."

Yang smiled and chuckled lightly. "What did I ever do to deserve you, my beautiful brainiac?"

Nora smiled eagerly as she readied the first of three weapons she'd prepared for this evening. "Asides from your soft-porn charm and bribing me with a fuckton of Cooper's?"

Yang laughed hysterically, not noticing the sliced lime in Nora's right hand. "Of course, I'm sure you – _ooooh_ , what _are_ you doing?"

Nora had whipped off the towel around Yang's backside, and squeezed the lime onto her right cheek. "A little something to take your mind off things."

Nora then kissed the right cheek and _slowly_ sucked up the lime juice. Yang moaned intensely at the action, then decided to unleash one of her infamous puns. "Are my buns not juicy enough for you, my hot Nora-roll?"

Unfortunately for her, Nora was easily turned on by food innuendo, and proceeded to unleash her second weapon. Walking around so Yang could see, Nora held up a peeled banana and proceeded to eat it _agonisingly_ slowly. Whereas Yang was aroused by the lime, she was getting jealously hungry on the banana's account – and not because of any lack of food she'd had that day.

Still, Yang felt uneasy about where her lover was heading with this. "Nora … are you sure you want it out here? I'm cool with it, but I'm not sure the neighbours will be."

Nora pouted, but the sound of some loggers getting to work four doors down perked her up considerably as she walked to Yang's side. "Let's put it this way; the neighbours won't hear us with that racket going on."

Yang smirked. "Well, let's put that idea to the test, _honeybun!_ "

* * *

There it was. _Honeybun_. The one pet name that _always_ turned Nora on. If the Dutch woman had any restraint in her system, it had melted into a horny puddle now. Itching to get it on, Nora walked behind her lover and whipped out the last item in her arsenal.

It was a double-edged dildo, with a _very_ generous eight inches on both sides. After lubing it up and dropping her dress onto the ground, Nora inserted one end gently into her womanhood and straddled Yang's rear. Yang was practically shivering with antici … pation.

For the next hour, the logging of several protruding tree branches on Beacon Street served to mask the cornucopia of noises emanating from Yang's backyard – the first of which being the unearthly moan Yang unleashed as Nora flipped her over and penetrated her womanhood.

Most folks tended to be passionate, yet somewhat gentle when it came to the art of making love. Yang and Nora, however, _weren't_ "most folks". Instead, they took the same approach to sex that the Klingons did in Star Trek; they were both passionate and aggressive in equal proportions, which had given rise to some _monumental_ escapades over the years. It had led to a long-running joke amongst the Bellas; "How can you tell if Yang's had a good day? When she just can't sit still!"

The closet dominatrix that was Nora Jennifer Valkyrie fucked her paramour like a raging earthquake, alternating between rhythmic vibration and the time-honored up and down method with _lightning-fast_ pace. As Blake wryly remarked upon catching them in the act once, it was an effort to know Nora as a friend, and an _education_ to know her biblically. Indeed, most of the male Bellas had developed the habit of asking _Nora_ for advice on pleasing the women they knew.

As for Yang, the equally ravenous submissive partner was taking every opportunity to increase Nora's horniness all the while, with kissing the breasts her favoured stimulator. As they reached the first orgasm, Yang wished that she'd filmed one of her escapades, for the first and only time in her life. _I mean, me and Nora could've submitted a thesis on 'The subtle art of fucking a woman's brains out' with a taped version of this_ , she lamented – despite _really_ feeling the heat from Nora's vaginal rampage.

After shagging each other senseless three times in one hour on the chaise lounge, the crazy lesbians were in an absolute state. Yang and Nora were dishevelled, covered in sweat and other fluids, and their new dildo was a write-off.

"Nora, that was incredible. I'm amazed that the chaise lounge _didn't_ break under our strain."

"You and me both, _schat_. That thing's sturdy enough for us, it'll be sturdy enough for anything. Come, let's get some Chinese for our dinner."

The two lovers extricated themselves from the mess, cleaned up and went out for a much-needed energy boost.

* * *

At the stroke of eleven the following morning, the Weiss Creamery and Coffee Parlour opened for trade. Weiss, herself a keen dessert maker and trained businesswoman, was the first of the Bellas to establish a front business, doing so in the winter of 1979. Since its founding, her ice cream joint was one of the most prosperous eateries in the Vale's west end.

Locals and rich east-siders alike flocked here day after day to marvel at her work, and her staff were regarded as consummate professionals. Weiss's usual routine started at eight, with her balancing the books over a Ren-provided breakfast. She followed with baking the cakes and cleaning out the press; thrice a week, she would also need to sign for the deliveries when they came.

During trading hours, she generally relaxed in her flat upstairs and assisted her staff during the peak hours. In addition to her permanent crew, Weiss also employed both high-school and university students in part-time roles. Not part of the Bellas, they generally handled the scooping and served tables, along with assisting whoever led the staff that day.

"Nadir, two espressos at table 4, followed by three hot chocolates at table 6."

"On it, Lani."

Today, Arslan Altan and Nadir Shuko led the staff, handling the till and working the espresso machine respectively. Arslan, or Lani as she was called, was the first to be recruited into Weiss's crew, joining at the start of 1980. At the time, Arslan was one of dozens of independent weed growers; she was only spared from Blake's "weed-fiend purge" because she'd been growing medical marijuana for those who needed it, instead of dealing it to bikers and lowlifes like everyone else. The Aborigine consequently considered Weiss her closest friend in the gang.

"Send these lattes to table 3, John."

"Sure thing, Nadir."

As for Nadir, the Turk's role within the gang was the manufacture of cocaine. His story was vastly different; after losing his sister in the crossfire of a biker brawl, he was audacious enough to convene a meeting of four biker gangs to teach them how to make high-grade cocaine. He'd intended to blow the place sky high with all the gangs inside, but could only usher in his victims before the police surrounded the building. Thinking quickly, Nadir walked outside as cool as anything and told the cops that he'd been the one to provide them the tip-off.

Fortunately for Nadir, the tip-off _had_ been anonymous, and the police believed him. The day after Australia won the America's Cup, the drug bust was plastered all over the news. When Brawnz alerted the cook's escape to his superiors, Yang and Weiss tracked Nadir down. Upon learning of his deception and cooking skill, they agreed to help keep the biker scene in check in exchange for his employment.

* * *

At a quarter to four, Weiss had just awoken from her siesta to take a smoke outside before the staff break kicked in. As she retrieved her lighter and Marlboro Mediums, the landline rang, and Weiss intercepted the call during the third ring. "Hello?"

"Thor to Ran, do you confirm?"

Weiss promptly stood to attention. "I confirm, Thor. What do you have for me."

"Just spotted a likely weed pusher on the corner of Vacuo and Beacon, and trailed him until he entered a house on the south end of Vacuo."

"Very well, Thor. I'll round up my staff and see what we can do. Ran out."

Immediately afterwards, Weiss rang up her other two staff members, who had gotten married a year before. The answering machine greeted her. Weiss grunted. "Ran to Ran-3 and Ran-4. Confirm and respond."

Weiss hung up, and patiently waited. Three minutes later, Weiss caught the return call. "Ran-4 confirming and responding, Ran. What's the trouble?"

The caller sounded somewhat out of breath, giving Weiss a _pretty_ good idea as to why her crewmates had missed the call. "Come to the shop in ten minutes please; a small spot of business has come to our attention from Thor."

"OK Ran. We'll be there as soon as we can. Ran-4 out."

As the shop shut for a half-hour break at four, Weiss gathered her permanent staff. Bolin Hori and Reese Chloris, fresh from getting their freak on, came in looking slightly dishevelled.

* * *

Reese was the other cashier on Weiss's permanent crew, and the friendly skateboard enthusiast was also their heroin chef. Her story was similar to Arslan's; she was a med-school dropout who got into the heroin trade, but only used to make it for people who couldn't afford diamorphine prescriptions.

For that, Reese was similarly spared by Weiss when Blake felt that the heroin trade needed to fall in 1981. Her friendly demeanour and level of education was enough to convince Weiss to train Reese with the till, and her manners were such that many a visitor completely ignored the fact that Reese had green hair.

Bolin on the other hand, was recruited the week before John Lennon's murder for two compelling reasons. First was his skill at cooking exceptionally pure speed, and second was the fact that he used to be a barista in his native Japan. No small amount of coercion was needed to bring him into the fold; however, his combative temperament had mellowed considerably since then.

"Okay, people; we've got a sting to set up."

The four looked at their leader in mild surprise.

"Pardon me, Weiss," Nadir enquired, "but didn't Miss Belladonna give us explicit orders to lay low until Easter after the biker war last year?"

Weiss blinked, then righted her composure. "Well, it seems to be nothing major, Nadir, and the mark wasn't shown to be a biker. So I'm sure we can push off a simple weed dealer without repercussions. Lani, do you have any product which can be used for this?"

Arslan nodded. "I've got enough stashed up to destroy two cartels, boss. About a fifth of one cartel's worth should be enough to lock him up."

Weiss smiled; the Aborigine's loyalty and preparedness was damned admirable. "Very good. Bolin, you'll plant the product inside the man's house, on the south-west corner of Beacon and Vacuo; Reese, keep a lookout for any witnesses, and Nadir will handle the tip-off. We start at closing time. Got it?"

"Got it," averred the other three gangsters.

"Now, let's get back to work. Or whatever variation of BDSM you two were engaging in before the meeting."

Weiss calmly smiled as Bolin and Reese spluttered, Nadir sniggered and Arslan unleashed her enormous laugh.

That evening, Ruby decided to call in on her sister. When she sat down on Yang and Nora's chaise lounge while waiting for her coffee, it broke from underneath without a hint of warning. Yang and Nora ran outside to find a bewildered Ruby sitting in the wreckage with murder in her silver eyes. As the slightly sore Mancunian brusquely enquired why their _brand new, super sturdy_ chaise lounge broke all of a sudden, Yang and Nora never looked so guilty for anything in their entire lives.

* * *

**A/N: Hope I didn't screw up the love scene (no pun intended)! Also, I'm sorry if I overdid the world-building in this chapter. The next one will be a _doozy_ in terms of plot progression, so keep your eyes peeled!**

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and feel free to check out my addition to the Belladonna Lilies AU - Aeneus Idola. You can find it under the same author name on Fanfiction.net if you wish to read it.**


	4. The Goon Show Incident

### Chapter Four: The Goon Show Incident

**Warning: Rape Scene and Normal Sex Scene featured at the end. Read at your own discretion.**

* * *

At eight that evening, the drug sting was propelled into action. As it turned out, Nora's evidence against the pusher was a plastic sandwich bag filled with weed that he was holding openly in his left hand, along with a bong he was trying to conceal in his right jacket sleeve. Items which were proven to have never left his person all day. Currently, Reese was on stakeout with Bolin, hiding behind their fence seven doors down from the mark. Reese had a good quality pair of binoculars trained on the tall, lanky red-haired man's house, looking for any signs of movement from within. As the sun started to set, the man appeared at the back of his house with a rolled up cigarette, and Reese cued her husband.

“He's gone down the back for a smoke, dear. Time to shine.”

Bolin pecked his wife on the cheek.

“Thanks Reese. I'll get right on it.”

Hiding the bag beneath his leather jacket, Bolin strode past the first five houses, then crouched down at the sixth one. Sneaking past the neighbour's picket fence, Bolin jumped the five-foot metal fence and onto the unkempt lawn, and idly threw the bag into the green waste bin. As he shut the lid, Bolin caught a distinctive smell coming from the same bin. As he re-opened it, Bolin realised that there was a significant amount of rotting weed inside already. A further examination of the rubbish bin showed that a fair whack of hydroponic equipment had been dismantled and crushed. Bolin realised that their mark was trying to stop dealing weed for good. Running into the nearest payphone, he quickly dialled Nadir's number.

“Hello?”

“Ran-3 to Ran-5. Do you confirm?”

“I confirm. What's the situation?”

“Have you rung the police yet?”

“Just did, actually.”

Bolin cringed and cursed his luck.

“Aw, for _**fuck's**_ _sake_! Mate, the mark's given up the trade for good. I just checked his green waste bin, and there was a large amount of weed that had been sitting there for some time. He's also crushed his hydroponic stuff too!”

Nadir's reaction was equally shocked.

“ _ **J** **e-sus** _ _fuck-ing_ _**Christ** _. This won't go well with the boss _at all_.”

“You're telling me, mate. I'll let her know about the cock-up. Ran-3 out.”

Slowly walking back to his house with his head in his hands, a dejected Bolin was hugged by his wife upon entering his front garden.

“Babe, Nadir just called me. Is it true?”

Bolin nodded resignedly.

“I'll have to tell Weiss about my mistake.”

“No need for that, Bolin.”

Bolin jumped and spun around to see his boss in the doorway with a disapproving expression, and he slumped in defeat. Weiss's expression softened, and she held his chin up to look him in the eye.

“Fear not, Bolin. I came to check how things were going, and Nadir called your wife as I arrived. Reese told me you tried to stop Nadir from ringing the police, so I won't hold this against you. Just double check these things first in the future, alright?”

Bolin nodded miserably as the police car sped past.

“Got it, Weiss.”

* * *

Mistral Boulevard, Vale's eastern high street, was a veritable hub of activity on the 14 th  of February. Cafes, vendors, and shops alike were replete with customers. The 5-star Amity restaurant in particular was almost completely full, with the richest diners in southern Sydney all flocking to the French cuisine joint for various business lunches and romantic trysts. The lone private dining room, only known to and used by the stakeholders of the restaurant, was also going to be occupied. Two of said stakeholders had arranged to bring one subordinate each to a very important, private business lunch. At the stroke of one, the four of them entered and took their seats.

But alas, their privacy was compromised severely. As it turned out, Cinder's brother Ashley was on the wait staff at the Amity. Asking him if he could get her some extra work on Valentines Day had miraculously paid off, and she'd been allowed to serve their table. The private dining room had a direct line to the kitchen, and featured a private bar in a small side room. A shutter door between the two had been opened on Cinder's suggestion, allowing for her to have exclusive access to the room. Of course, Ashley was happy to ensure none of his regular wait staff didn't have to work both dining rooms, giving Cinder full control of the food there.

As for herself, Cinder had opted to hole up in the bar; after all, living with Junior had provided her a reasonable education on drink making, and helping make the food would've hampered Cinder's surveillance. So serving table and bartender it was. Cinder had rigged up a wireless microphone on the underside of the table, transmitting directly to a DAT machine. Careful as always, Cinder had plugged in her headphones to mute the speakers and check the incoming signal. The signal wasn't loud enough for careful analysis, but a simple compressor would be enough to render the issue moot. As the guests sat down, Cinder put her headphones down, hit record and got into character.

She tottered out in a pair of black heels and tights, with a white blouse and black pencil skirt completing the look. Putting on her best customer smile, she beheld a motley crew of four refined people; her unsuspecting marks. The tallest of the bunch was a ginger-haired man in a white suit and bowler hat, looking like a refined version of A Clockwork Orange's protagonist. Sitting opposite him was a shorter man in a black and yellow suit with a cordovan waistcoat and shoes, with his impassive face defined by a luxurious moustache. Sitting at their respective sides were a tanned, gypsy-ish girl in a skimpy, mint green dress and a supine young man in a grey suit. Cinder pitched her voice an octave above her usual tone and went for it.

“Good afternoon sirs and madam; what drinks would you care to have?”

The ginger stakeholder turned towards her as he perused the drinks menu.

“Well, a glass of Wyndham Estate's latest shiraz would do me nicely. What about you, doctor?”

The moustachioed man stroked his chin pensively as he read his copy of said menu.

“An '86 Tyrell Chardonnay shall suffice for this.”

Turning towards the other two occupants of the room, the ginger stakeholder enquired the same question.

“What would you two like?”

The grey-suited man quickly made up his mind.

“Well, I can't really have liquor on a work day, so I'll stick with a latte.”

“Same here please,” the woman added.

Cinder nodded, jotting down the orders as quickly as she could manage, then handed out the menus for the guests.

“Right. I'll be back in a few with the drinks.”

* * *

 As she closed the door to the bar behind her, the conversation began in earnest.

“So, Mister Torchwick,” said the moustachioed stakeholder, “shall you indulge us with the proposition you're putting forward to the planning department for the Vale's redevelopment?”.

“Well, Dr. Watts, it's a lengthy list of plans, so I do hope you're patient with me,” Torchwick replied.

“I'll try to be, Roman. Accountants like me are always busy.”

Roman smirked. “So how come you're here then, Arthur? Anyway,” Roman continued in the face of the scowling doctor, “there are a number of areas that I intend to develop. The commercial strip on Vacuo Road, for one thing, is an absolute eyesore. Giving those stodgy shopkeepers the boot would do the area wonders.”

The grey-suited man raised his hand at this point, with an uncertain expression on his face.

“Yes, Mr Black?”, Roman dismissively asked.

“Pardon the interruption, Mr Torchwick, but wouldn't that course of action pit us against the whole of the Vale?”

“Mercury's got a good point,” Watts added. “It would be more advantageous to convince the shopkeepers that they need our help with sprucing up the area, and do so by helping them renovate their shopfronts and so on. That would keep the Vale from getting annoyed at us prematurely.”

Torchwick took all of this in silently as Cinder returned with the drinks. “Ah, thank you miss,” Roman chirped sweetly as she handed the drinks to their intended recipients.

“Are you four ready to order any food?”

As one, the four looked at their menus quizzically. After half a minute's contemplation, they'd made up their minds, and told her them in order of deference.

“So that's one _Truite Saut_ _é_ _Sauce Amere_ , two _Porc_ _á_ _la Dijonnaise_ , and a _Champignon Parmentier au Gratin_ for the lady. I'll go hand this in; I'll be in the bar if you need me.”

As Cinder strode out, Torchwick replied in kind to the arguments that Watts and his lawyer put forward.

“I agree with your suggestions, but for different reasons. As we know, the west and southern sides of the Vale are fertile ground for both the types of clientele that we want to attract there. Giving the Vacuo strip a facelift would be vital in luring in the classier type.”

Watts and Mercury nodded understandingly.

“Indeed,” the latter affirmed. “I guess the cheaper housing planned for the area south of Patch Road would sort out the other type easily enough.”

The conversation dried up appallingly at this point, drifting to topics like local economy and taxation rates – no doubt helpful for Jaune and Nora to go over, but not as rewarding as Blake would have liked from such a mission. Even Cinder, who'd spent hours in a sex dungeon waiting on a chronically late bartender to please her, was starting to get agitated. Relief came about half an hour later when the food arrived at her countertop. Balancing everything on the tray, Cinder gently opened the door and walked on in with the food. Roman was handed a sautéed trout with a sauce that blended raspberry, vinegar and butter, and the whole dish was garnished with tarragon, parsley, and shallots. Dr. Watts and Mercury both received a plate of sautéed pork tenderloin medallions drenched in an orange compote sauce. And Emerald, the lone vegetarian of the group, was given a plate of braised portobello mushrooms, which were covered in mashed potatoes and Gruyere cheese.

* * *

“Bon appetit!”, Cinder chirped convincingly.

A chorus of thank-yous reached her ears as she walked towards the bar room. The table was frustratingly silent for the next twenty minutes, while the four criminals savoured the finest French haute cuisine south of the Parramatta River. Cinder found herself with her hands in her raven-hued hair as her frustration started to boil over. However, her ire was short-lived; as the meal was finished, Watts held up his finger.

“Yes, doctor?”, Roman asked calmly.

“Both myself and Mercury will need to leave soon,” Watts pointed out. “Is there anything else we need to know before we start making our applications, Roman?”

Torchwick turned to his subordinate, a skilful thief called Emerald Sustrai. “Emerald, has our quiet little mouse ratted out her old partners-in-crime yet? All I've heard about the Vale's crime trade is that it's clandestine and subtle, yet powerful and monopolised.”

Emerald shifted slightly and responded coldly to her employer. “Clearly, you haven't lived in these parts long enough, Roman; there _isn't_ a crime trade in the Vale. These people that Neo worked for were very committed to _preventing_ crime in the Vale, even though the means they used to achieve this weren't legal. The only other thing she's told me was that it was run like the American Mafia, but with much more permissive attitudes towards membership.”

Roman scowled petulantly. “So we _can't_ find our marks by merely sniffing around the Italian community here. That's just perfect.”

“Speaking of Italians,” Watts interjected as he fetched his coat, “who was stupid enough to let Mr. Taurus get arrested in a drug bust?”

“I honestly don't know,” Mercury responded, “but when I got to Atlas Terrace, Adam gave me a semi-decent alibi. We know he wasn't responsible for making the fresh weed that was found at his house.”

Roman looked amusedly at his lawyer. “Has he stopped making drugs or something?”

“On the contrary, Roman; he was planning to start making this new drug called ice.”

Roman shuddered; he knew how dangerous _that_ little chemical was.

“Well _that_ explains it. You did get him off, right?”

Mercury smirked nastily as he got up. “But of _course_ I did. He merely said he'd stopped making weed a month ago and had destroyed his equipment. Naturally, the officers leading the arrest were on our payroll, and they released him without charge. Heck, it's a good thing that 'Adam Taurus' is merely an alias. Thanks for having us, Roman.”

Roman nodded as he shook hands with Mercury and Dr. Watts.

“Well, thank you both for coming along. I'll be in touch soon.”

This was a goldmine of information for Cinder. _Blake and the others will have a field day with the stuff I've gathered already_ , she realised. _Still, better to catch all of it than most of it, so I'll wait for the other two to leave_. As Dr. Watts and Mercury walked out, Roman leaned towards a scowling Emerald and started talking softly.

“I know you don't like either of them Emmy, but their skills are crucial at this stage. Once we find out more about Neo's ex-employers, we'll need to meet up and figure out a way to deal with them. Afterwards, we'll frame Watts and Mercury for any hell that will ensue in our wake.”

As they left to pay the check, Cinder hit the stop button on the tape machine, then quickly removed the wireless microphone from the underside of the table. As she emerged from under the table, she found that Dr. Watts's business card had fallen out of his pocket and onto the floor. His office, Cinder noted, was located on the corner of Mistral Boulevard and Haven Lane – which was likely the wealthiest area within the Vale itself. _Excellent_ , Cinder thought cruelly, _we can whack these arseholes at a moment's notice. I'll be sure to hand this over to Ruby when I get to Blake's house this evening_. Packing up the tape machine, the newly-minted spy stashed the whole kit into her leather shoulder bag and locked it tight before leaving early.

* * *

In addition to being the start of the Bellas' war against Torchwick, Valentine's Day was also a day of many great experiences for Pyrrha Nikos, who was turning thirty. Her first experience this year was breakfast in bed, which gave Ruby yet another excuse to show off her immense talent for cookery.

Opting for cuisine from Pyrrha's native Thessaly, Ruby served her prize a plate of grilled Trikala sausages, with olive bread dressed in Greek butter, and a side bowl of thick yoghurt. Ruby had even had the forethought to acquire some homemade Greek tea from Pyrrha's mother the day before. Pyrrha regarded her lover in the same fashion an art critic regarded the Mona Lisa.

“Ruby Scarlett Rose, what ever did I do to deserve you?”

The pint-sized sniper beamed happily while she sat down with a smaller serving for herself.

“Just you being you was enough for me.”

Pyrrha kissed her paramour tenderly with a passionate moan.

“You're getting some tonight, my darling.”

The second experience occurred halfway through said breakfast. Pyrrha was just finishing off her yoghurt when a loud car horn started beeping outside the house. Pyrrha looked out the window, and found herself staring at a 1989 Falcon Fairmont XF with a candied tawny paint job. Yang stood outside the open driver's seat with the proudest expression on her face. Pyrrha hurriedly threw on her brown muumuu and got up with yoghurt in hand to check if she was dreaming.

“Ta-da!!”, Yang exclaimed, holding her arms wide open as if she'd finished a magic trick.

Pyrrha nearly choked on the yoghurt in response to the sight. Flooring it downstairs and making her way outside with her muumuu on, Pyrrha was utterly gobsmacked at Yang's choice.

“A Fairmont XF?! Yang, you're amazing. Simply amazing.”

After finishing her breakfast, Pyrrha donned her tweed pantsuit and white blouse and retrieved the keys to her brand new Fairmont. It was only when she entered the car in question that she noticed the modifications that Yang had put in herself. She'd loaded in a hi-fi system that boasted a 14-inch subwoofer in the boot, with a quartet of 10-inch speakers in the four doors. Twin-band radio and tape decks were both present, and Pyrrha was finally at ease to love good quality audio wherever she went. The windows were tinted gold, which was the closest the crew could've come to tawny without impairing Pyrrha's ability to drive. Additionally, the suspension and brakes had been upgraded, and a turbo-charger had been fitted onto the engine, giving Pyrrha a perfect car for both daily driving and speedy escapes.

After a long day at work and lunch with her mother, Pyrrha was summoned to Blake's house next door for what the latter had called “a meeting of the utmost importance.” Arriving there at the stroke of half past five, Pyrrha was surprised by the other eight leaders of the Bellas who'd hidden in a darkened lounge room.

“Happy birthday, Pyrrha!”, they all chorused loudly.

Pyrrha almost fainted in surprise, but recovered and happily embraced them all. After receiving a pair of earrings from Weiss and Ren, a pair of car dice from Nora and two bottles of Jacob's Creek Chardonnay 1988 from Jaune and Cinder, Pyrrha was led by Blake and Ruby to a roast lamb feast, which had been topped off with what she now deemed her favourite dessert – a lemon meringue pie in the shape of a dick.

After dinner at Blake's, the couples went off to their separate activities. Ruby and Pyrrha, generally the sort to relax at home, went to do just that. Weiss and Ren decided to spend the night on the Cronulla coastline with two bottles of beer and the starry sky, and sped off in Weiss's white '86 Ford Telstar. Jaune and Cinder had already spent the day together at work, and Jaune decided to pack it in early. Cinder didn't advertise what she would be doing, but asked Blake to drive her up to the Aurora when she went to work. And finally, after some deliberation, Yang and Nora drove up to the Aurora in Nora's salmon-hued '85 Holden Barina for a night of hard partying.

* * *

**Dirty scenes start here; skip to the end if you're not willing to read it.**

* * *

Four hours later, the couple walked out of Atlas Terrace's only gay-friendly bar, knackered from all the dancing that they'd undertaken. Yang herself was a little hammered, but had enough presence of mind to save her designated driver some booze; hence why she was lugging a six-pack of Cooper's Pale. As they walked around into the parking lot, a sharp whistle forced them to spin around. A short cop with obnoxiously pink hair called out to them, in what sounded like an Irish accent.

“Excuse me ladies, can I please check if you two are too drunk to drive?”

The pair exchanged glances, nodded, and Yang responded as Nora walked towards their car.

“Sure; my girlfriend's touched nothing tonight, but we'll appease you once we put the booze in our car.”

As Yang finished her sentence, the sounds of a scuffle caused her to glance back. A trio of cops had jumped from an open blue van and restrained Nora, and she was struggling to break loose. Before Yang could run to protect her girlfriend, she was tapped on the shoulder. To her regret, Yang glanced back and promptly caught a truncheon to the face. The incredibly annoying Irishwoman was accompanied by a tall, red-haired man with a white half-mask over his eyes; they manhandled a drunken Yang and bundled her into the van, with the three guarding cops moving to protect the vehicle from prying eyes.

“Mr. Taurus, which dyke do you want first?”

“The blonde one; I'll trade you when we're done laying the hurt on our first picks.”

Yang felt her underwear being ripped off forcefully, and Nora screamed as Neon proceeded to fist her. The last thing Yang felt before slipping into drunken unconsciousness was a truncheon leaving a bruise on her backside.

Blake had spied her friends walk around the corner from her upstairs office. Unfortunately, she'd turned to retrieve a file on the opposite wall when Yang and Nora were getting attacked. Not hearing the noise over the club's music, Blake sat down and fired up her new Macintosh II. After about ten minutes of silent paperwork, there was a hurried series of knocks on the door.

“What is it, Junior?”

The tall bartender burst into the room in a panic.

“Miss Belladonna, I've just spotted Miss Valkyrie's car. It's still in the parking lot, and when I opened the window to double-check, I heard what sounded like Nora getting raped in the blue van.”

Blake jumped out of her seat, her features _contorting_ with rage. When it came, her voice was predatory.

“Have the twins go outside and stop the perpetrators. I'll be making a few calls.”

Junior nodded and hurtled downstairs as fast as he could manage. Blake angrily stormed towards her office phone and picked it up. _T_ _he ambulance first_ _, **then the gang,** _ she vowed.

And just as Mr. Taurus and Neon finished changing victims, the Malachite twins exited the staff entrance and ran towards the van, yelling at the guards. Panicking, the two rapists threw their victims out on the street, possessions and all, and drove off with their guards in tow. Melanie checked for pulses as Miltia ran inside to find Blake calling an ambulance in her office. Two minutes later, an ambulance crew pulled up in the lot, and paramedics were treating the injured as a harried Blake Belladonna ran outside.

She could only stare in uncharacteristic horror as her two oldest friends got loaded into the ambulance. Asking the drivers to send them to Vale Hospital, Blake angrily swore revenge. Cinder, who'd been inside the poker club next door all night, walked outside and saw Blake walking rigidly towards a payphone.

“Hey boss, what's going on?”

Blake turned towards Cinder, and the latter noted that her boss's current expression could've haunted houses. When she spoke, Blake's voice was almost demoniacally deep.

“Yang and Nora were raped and bashed just now. I'm going to Vale Hospital to stand guard over them, you will too, and I'm just letting Ruby and Pyrrha know about it.”

Cinder nodded mutely; she wouldn't _dare_ suggest an alternative plan of action now.

* * *

As Yang and Nora were being assailed, the auburn lesbians were engaging in their biweekly carnal activity. Ruby and Pyrrha, otherwise a normal gay couple, had one kink which _no-one_ knew about, and their sex life was all the better for indulging in it once a fortnight. Tonight, Ruby hadn't changed out of her teaching attire, which consisted of black knee-high boots and stockings, dark grey business skirt and jacket, and magenta blouse. In a departure from the norm, Pyrrha's birthday romp featured a mixtape of her and Ruby's favourite artists playing softly in the background; Peter Gabriel and Genesis for Ruby, Crowded House and INXS for Pyrrha. Currently, the hurricane of innuendos known as “Sledgehammer” was in full swing.

At the stroke of nine, Pyrrha walked into their bedroom. She wore a get up which put Chrissie Amphlett's stage clothes to shame; a brown and green tartan skirt and matching tie, brown stockings and dress shoes, off-white dress shirt and a green formal jacket. Even though Ruby was a teacher by trade, this kink wasn't so disturbing as it seemed at first glance. The Mancunian murderess taught first years in a public primary school, and Pyrrha was pretending to be the diametric opposite – a high-school girl with a rich background. It helped that her partner essentially hadn't aged since they first met in 1978. True to character, Pyrrha's hair was styled into two long pigtails, with a little mascara and lip balm completing the look.

“Struggling with your grades _again_ , Pyrrha?”

Pyrrha dropped to her knees, instantly causing Ruby to heat up.

“I – I'm afraid so, Miss Rose,” she said timidly. “I've just been _so_ stressed with balancing work, school and life that I've been finding it harder to concentrate. If only there were a way to relieve my burdens and fix my grades again ...”

At that precise moment, Ruby's opening line was pinched by the mixtape. “ _Show me round your fruit cakes!_ ”

Ruby nonetheless saw Pyrrha's cue and gladly took it.

“Well, Pyrrha, I have a way to solve both of your predicaments. I'll give it to you if you promise to tell no-one about it.”

Pyrrha gave a look of longing eagerness that outclassed the puppy-eyed expression Ruby had used in the field to find some of her marks. “Oh please, give it to me, Miss Rose. I'd do anything to solve this!”

Ruby's right eyebrow cocked upwards as the shakuhachi fired away in the background.

“Anything?”

“Anything at all!”

Ruby's cherubic features played host to a _impishly_ playful smirk and nodded.

“Very well, Pyrrha. Let me fetch a little gift I bought for you today.”

Ruby reached under her bed and retrieved a seven-inch long jockstrap with a bow around the bottom shaft. As the mixtape started to play the last few stanzas of “Sledgehammer”, Pyrrha dropped her panties as Ruby affixed the jockstrap underneath her skirt. Walking towards Ruby and her now-bulging skirt, Pyrrha laid a tender right hand on Ruby's cheek.

“Here's to both of us, my pumpkin.”

The auburn lesbians leaned in together and started pashing the other's lips, falling onto the bed as they kicked off their respective shoes and jackets.

* * *

“Heathaze” by Genesis faded in at this point, the ethereal ballad adding a relaxing backdrop to pure lesbian carnality. Ruby unhitched her skirt and spread Pyrrha's toned long legs apart, and Pyrrha started to get wet when she saw Ruby lubing up the jockstrap. Ruby's methods were even more effective than Nora's in stimulation; rather than jamming the phallic object straight up there, Ruby instead used the tip to massage Pyrrha's sensitive nub, and she kept at it for most of the song. Pyrrha moaned sensually as her vagina moistened in anticipation.

All the while, Ruby loosened Pyrrha's tie, undid her shirt buttons and bra, and starting fondling her perfectly proportionate breasts. Pyrrha blushed deeply as her breaths started to get more ragged. In return for this, Pyrrha reached for Ruby's blouse, undid it and started kissing Ruby's “tatas”. Ruby gasped as Pyrrha's lips licked her tender puppies, and therefore decided to ramp up her efforts downstairs. Pyrrha moaned loudly as the cockhead of the jockstrap plunged into her vagina, Ruby moving it progressively further as she emulated a piston with her hips.

INXS's ballad “Never Tear Us Apart” kicked in as Ruby went the whole way in and heated up the action. Pyrrha could hardly do more than moan and scream as Ruby's legendary speed caused Pyrrha to believe her hymen had broken again. _Gods above,_ Pyrrha thought in spite of the action _, is this the sort of thing Yang lives with? I won't be able to walk tomorrow, the way things are go – oh my, it's coming_. Her right leg twitched uncontrollably, and both women knew what that meant.

“Oh yes _, YES,_ _**YES!** _ ”, Pyrrha exclaimed as the saxophone solo began.

Pyrrha felt the rush from within and noisily screamed as she climaxed like a fire hose. Much to her eternal amusement, a stray piece of cum hit Ruby in her left eye. Ruby flicked it out with a tissue as Pyrrha laughed heartily, calming down at last after the most powerful quicky she'd ever experienced. Clearly, Ruby had gone all out for her, and she vowed to return the favour on Ruby's birthday in April. As they extricated themselves from the mess to the first strains of Crowded House's “Better Be Home Soon”, the bedroom phone rang. Ruby scooted over and picked it up.

“Odin to Ullr and Heimdall, do you confirm?”

Ruby stood to attention, and utilised her speaker phone.

“Ullr and Heimdall both confirm. What's happened?”

“Frey and Thor were bashed and raped outside the Aurora. They're in Vale Hospital now, and both myself and Hel are on our way. Please meet us there as soon as you can. Odin out.”

Ruby and Pyrrha stood in stunned silence for an agonising ten seconds, then they rapidly cleaned up, dressed properly and sped off in Ruby's crimson Commodore II. The bashing and rape of Yang and Nora had driven the auburn lesbians into a level of anger unmatched by any other member of the Bellas, and woe betide anyone who _dared_ stop them.

* * *

**A/N: Things are heating up! Both literally and figuratively.**

**For those too squeamish to read the dirty scenes, Adam and Team FNKI (the corrupt cops) rape Yang and Nora before Blake's staff stop them. Ruby and Pyrrha shag each other before they find out.**

**The next chapter is mostly written, and it will show how the Bellas tackle this incident. It will also have another rape scene, so be warned.**

**Until next time, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.**


	5. Untouchable

### Chapter Five: Untouchable

**Warning: rape and torture scenes are featured within.**

* * *

As Ruby and Pyrrha marched into Vale Hospital _brimming_ with fury, a rather frazzled Cinder and Blake greeted them in the lobby.

“We just arrived,” Blake started as they approached the lift, “and we didn't want to go to see them until you two were here.”

Pyrrha nodded, and they piled up into the lift and rode up to the floor Yang and Nora were in, stopping only to ask which ward their cohorts were in. Upon entry, the quartet found themselves staring at the injuries. Pyrrha turned towards the bin and threw up badly, while Ruby started tearing up. Blake was silently _fuming,_ and _even Cinder_ looked shaken.

Yang had suffered a black eye, two cracked ribs, and at least a dozen bruises all over her backside, womanhood and thighs. She was awake, though in considerable pain. And Nora sported a wound that _barely_ missed her eye, a dislocated jaw, along with multiple bruises on her rear end, and most humiliatingly, half a dozen bite marks on her breasts. All in all, they were in bad shape.

After the nurses left the room, Blake gathered herself and asked the one question she wanted answered _fast_.

“Who were these demons that did this to you?”

Yang took up the account in pained tones.

“One of the cunt-munchers was a lanky, red-haired psycho called Mr. Taurus with a white bandanna over his eyes. Sounded slightly Italian or Greek.”

“Mr. Taurus?!”, Cinder exclaimed. “That's the alias of the bastard Weiss pulled a drug bust on; I heard earlier today that he'd been freed by some cops on Torchwick's payroll!”.

Yang turned slightly towards Cinder.

“Well, the other one was this short, loudmouthed Irish cop bitch; had her hair dyed bright pink. She's probably one of those bent pigs in Atlas Station.”

Blake pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned; she'd been sworn at by that crazy-haired Irishwoman for parking in her usual spot on Atlas Terrace more than once.

“And you said she was a cop; was she alone?”

Nora shook her head slowly, wincing as she did so. Yang took up the account again.

“I heard about three others that were standing at a distance; they were likely preventing any comers from helping us. And one more thing; they attacked us because we were lovers.”

Nodding, Blake regained her mental composure.

“First things first, we'll need to listen to the tape that Cinder recorded today in the Amity. Do any of you have it on them?”

Ruby nodded, holding up the DAT reel.

“I still have the tape machine on me, if that helps,” Cinder added, fishing out the item concerned from her shoulder bag.

“Good to see you two are prepared as always,” Blake answered appreciatively as Ruby loaded in the tape. “Now, let's see what you found out …”

* * *

Forty minutes later, the tape had finished, and the room was eerily quiet as Blake concentrated inwardly, shutting her eyes as she formulated a plan. Her mouth suddenly snapped into a wafer-thin line of determination, and her eyes were steelier than ever before.

“First things first,” she ordered, “I'll stay overnight with Yang and Nora. Cinder, you'll find out the real identity of this so-called Mr. Taurus. When you do, let Ruby, myself and Pyrrha know in that order and relieve me at Vale Hospital.”

“You got it, boss,” Cinder affirmed.

Blake then turned to Ruby and Pyrrha.

“Ruby, when Cinder tells you Mr. Taurus's real name, you will go after him and _make the cunt pay_. _I_ _**don't**_ _want_ _that_ _ **animal**_ _living to regret his actions_. _**Capisce** **?**_ ”

“Understood, Blake,” Ruby affirmed.

“By the way, Blake,” Pyrrha enquired, “what shall I do?”

“I'd like you to cover for Nora as underboss and call Ren first thing tomorrow morning. Tell him to ascertain the identities of Torchwick's cops in Atlas Terrace station, and we'll let him and the vets handle them.”

Blake smiled horribly.

“They'll show these buggers that the Bellas are _**untouchable**_.”

* * *

At eight-thirty the next morning, Ren reported in to the Atlas Terrace station for work. He usually spoke to Detective Inspector Peter Port for any scene cleaning work that needed doing in the Vale. If there wasn't anything that needed his crew's skills, he'd usually head to Campbelltown out west to ply his trade there. However, things were different this morning, and Port sensed it as Ren walked in.

“Heard about the hate crime at the Aurora did you?”

Ren nodded with disgust on his features. Port nodded with a genuinely sympathetic expression on his face.

“A disgusting business, I'll agree. If you're wondering, Sergeant Rainart led the small clean-up effort there that night.”

“Well, Inspector,” Ren replied, “is there more work around the place that needs doing?”

Port stroked his luxurious moustache as he responded.

“Well, there's a car wreck off of the B69 between Campbelltown and the Vale that does need some work. Other than that, there's no other crime scenes in the area, so I'd advise you to do the wreck and take the rest of the day off.”

Ren nodded at the Inspector, and showed himself out of the office. Port reached for a bottle of his namesake, pouring himself a glass of ruby port. _After the mess that Hazel's goons caused_ , he groused mentally, _I damned well_ _ **need**_ _a drink_.

As Ren walked towards Sergeant Rainart's office on the lower floor, he overheard a conversation he desperately needed to hear.

“... you bashed _and_ knocked up a gay couple in front of _**the Aurora** **?**_ _What the hell_ _**possessed**_ you to _**do**_ _that?_ ”

“Adam Taurus said they were gangsters, and I thought he was right; if you'd taken a look at the dykes, I'm sure you and DI Port would have wanted them bashed.”

A pause followed, broken by Rainart's dark-toned reply.

“All of you will have to work four unpaid double shifts starting tomorrow to make up the fine Port's set to give you, and the four of you will be confined to the Atlas Terrace beat until it's finished. And lastly, you're one to call them such an ugly term, Neon.”

Ren had heard enough and swiftly departed the station. He strode out from the front door, making his way towards his forest green '84 VW Vanagon with murder in his eyes. _So Sergeant Rainart_ _**and** _ _Inspector Port are leading the corrupted cops here_ , Ren reflected as he drove off, _and the corrupt beat cops will be on Atlas Terrace tomorrow night_.

Making it to his and Weiss's apartment above her Vacuo Road shop in record time, he ran to the phone and pondered for a moment on who to call. _Blake will likely be running the Vytal, and Ruby will be arriving at work. I'd better call Pyrrha and get her to run back to Cinder at Vale Hospital_. Picking up his house phone, Ren quickly rang Pyrrha and Ruby's home.

* * *

The minute she was set to head to work that day, Pyrrha's landline went off. Running to her kitchen, Pyrrha _just_ managed to catch the call.

“Make it quick; I'm due to work soon.”

“Tyr to Heimdall, do you confirm?”

“I do confirm, Tyr. What did you find out?”

“I've got the ID's of the six corrupted cops in the station. The two in charge didn't order or approve of the bashing, but the Irish girl seemed unrepentant and claimed she thought Frey and Thor looked like gangsters, hence her actions.”

Pyrrha sounded stricken at this development.

“Tyr, if the grunts of this conspiracy picking out our members is any indication of how much their employers know, then their deaths need to be swift and decisive.”

Ren smirked slightly as she said that.

“Well, I've learned that the four cops who did this are confined to the Atlas beat from tomorrow night onwards, so I'll summon my crew to handle them on Odin's behalf once my legit work's done today. Anyway, let Odin, Hel and Ullr know about it as soon as you can.”

“Will do. I'll make my way to Vale Hospital and tell Hel what's up, and I'll leave a note for Ullr, and one for Odin when they get back home. Heimdall out.”

Pyrrha then hurriedly called her office, and Gwen answered the phone on the second ring.

“Real Steals on Wheels Dealership and Mechanic Shop, how can I help you?”

“Heimdall to Heimdall-3, do you confirm?”

“I confirm, Heimdall. What's up?”

“You heard about what happened to Frey and Thor?”

“Yes, I did. You're visiting them, correct?”

“Yeah, but I'm also due to exchange information with Hel and Odin about all this, so I'll be in a tad later than usual.”

“No worries, Heimdall. I'll relay the message to Frey-One and the others.”

“Good thinking, Heimdall-3. Heimdall out.”

* * *

Pyrrha hopped into her new Fairmont and nimbly weaved her way through traffic as she crossed Sanus Street, drove east into Windpath Drive, then turned left up Kuchinashi Avenue until she turned right down Sanctum Drive, the eastward continuation of Atlas Terrace. Pulling in about halfway between Kuchinashi Avenue and Mistral Boulevard on the north side of Sanctum, Pyrrha ran as fast as possible into Vale hospital.

When Pyrrha arrived in the lobby, Cinder was waiting with a concerned expression. Greeting each other, Cinder spoke first.

“Pyrrha, I have news for you.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, Jaune rang me half an hour earlier today, and I asked if he knew who got Taurus off. He said one of his partners did, a cocky solicitor named Mercury Black. So before Black arrived, he ran to his partner's desk and pulled out the case file. As it turns out, 'Mr. Taurus' was an alibi for a man called Adamo de Toro.”

A light went off in Pyrrha's brain.

“de Toro? Like the mob boss?”

Cinder, having been regaled by Jaune with the Bellas foundation story before, nodded instantly.

“As far as I can see, yes. I have reason to believe the new de Toro is his son.”

“Well, Blake would want to know that,” Pyrrha remarked, “but I wouldn't tell her until after Ruby's got a lock on him. She might get a _bit_ too fired up about it to let Ruby handle it unassisted.”

“Very well,” Cinder conceded, “I'll tell Blake that bit about Jaune's partner getting Mr. Taurus off the drugs charges, and say that I've got Jaune onto the task of looking into his identity. In the meantime, I'll get you to tell Ruby his name.”

“Fair enough. Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Actually, there is something. I'm due to see my parents around nine tonight, so could you relieve my post at eight-fifty, Pyrrha?”

Pyrrha nodded firmly. “Of course. I'll tell Ruby about that as well.”

* * *

At one that afternoon, lunch break was called at Vale Primary School, which was situated at the north-west corner of Windpath and Kuchinashi. Adjourning to the staff room, Ruby was walking over to the fridge to fetch her home-made sushi when the receptionist walked on in.

“Miss Rose, your partner wanted me to hand you a letter from your father. She said it had something quite important for your and her eyes only.”

Ruby straightened up and took the envelope.

“Thanks, Jan!”, Ruby chirped cheerily. “I'll get to reading this over lunch.”

As the receptionist left, Ruby retrieved her sushi and went back to her empty classroom. Whenever Ruby needed to be given orders while on the job, the person handing her said orders took an empty envelope, wrote a brief for Ruby's perusal inside it, and passed it off as a letter from her father.

In this case, Pyrrha had passed on all of the information Ruby needed to know about her mark – including his true name, and the address that Weiss had provided.

“So he's the son of Sandra Bullshit, eh?”, Ruby vocalised softly.

Adopting a smile that was viciously predatory, she whispered her plans for Thursday night.

“This guy will be getting _r_ _oasted_ , both tonight _and_ hereafter.”

* * *

As the sun was starting to set on Sydney, the warm Thursday evening provided a lively environment to an equally lively clubbing scene. Atlas Terrace was abuzz with a hard-partying atmosphere that rivalled King's Cross, the red-light district next to Sydney's CBD. With fifteen minutes to kill before the job went down at eight, Ren parked his Vanagon right inside a dark alleyway between the Aurora and the Vale City Hall, with an unused dumpster behind his van and the staff carpark to the Aurora on his left.

Of course, it was a no-parking zone, but Blake wouldn't dream of reporting Ren at this point for something so trivial. Ren pulled out the latest edition of the Punisher comic and started to read with his feet on the dashboard, letting his mind wander with possibilities for tonight's efforts. Five minutes later, the first of Ren's crewmen arrived at the ambush site; a tall, ginger-haired brute by the name of Cardin Winchester.

Coming from a long line of soldiers, Cardin served in Vietnam with Ren. He joined in with the Bellas for two reasons: first, he was summarily abused and rejected by family and friends alike for his service when he returned, leaving him wanting to inflict suffering on anyone who wasn't sympathetic to the plight of Vietnam veterans – which was most people. The second reason was that he owed Ren his life, after the latter prevented his death while on leave in Vung Tao. Most amusingly, Ren accomplished that by kicking Cardin in the nuts during a bar brawl, causing him to duck underneath a Vietcong sniper's bullet.

Ren sat up with a start in the van as Cardin knocked on the door.

“Evening, boss.”

Ren relaxed at the sound of his old comrade-in-arms as he wound the window down.

“Startled me there, Cardin. For a split second I thought the marks came early.”

Cardin chuckled lightly.

“Well, Sky hasn't paged me yet about their departure, so we're in a good spot at the moment.”

Cardin was soon followed by the midget couple that were Russel Thrush and Dove Bronzewing. They were a pair of injured soldiers that Kieran Belladonna, Blake's brother, had saved at the cost of his own life during the Battle of Long Tan. Having met Ren and Cardin outside an RSL that had rejected them in early 1979, they discovered that their new friends had served alongside Kieran too, and were working for her sister. So the pair of them pledged themselves to her cause out of respect for Kieran, and she'd gratefully accepted their efforts.

With eight minutes on the clock, Cardin's pager went off.

“Okay, they're kitting themselves out and heading on patrol soon,” Cardin announced to the others. “Sky should be here in a few minutes.”

Six minutes later, Sky Lark arrived ready for action. Another Vietnamese ally to the West in the war, he'd lived in the next village over from Ren, and the pair wrote one another for some time after Ren departed to Australia. In late 1982, Sky made his way over on his own volition and started a cleaning business, asking Ren to help him work it. One thing led to another, and the last man in the crew had been recruited before long. “Alright, gentlemen,” Ren stated softly as he handed out chemistry gloves to his crewmen, “here's the plan …”

At the same time, Ruby was watching for the red-haired rapist, apparently the son of one of the mafiosi Blake killed in '78. Currently, Ruby was perched in the same treehouse that Reese used for espionage two weeks ago, and was waiting anxiously for the man to make his move. _After all_ , Ruby rationalised, _it would be easier in the long run to make him disappear rather that just murder him in his home_.

As she finished this, she saw the front door to his house open, and spied him getting into his old Combi panel van. Ruby jumped from the treehouse as he started the engine.

“Reese, please tell Pyrrha that I've got a lock on him, will you?”

“Will do, Ruby,” Reese replied as her erstwhile guest cantered to the front garden.

Ruby donned her helmet and jacket, while Reese tied her duffel bag down to the back of Ruby's motorcycle. As she mounted the bike, Ruby took a moment to calm her raging emotions for the mission. _Nobody, but_ _ **nobody**_ _, fucks my sister like that and lives to tell the tale_ , she resolved icily as she took off on her red '88 Yamaha FZ750.

* * *

When the clock struck eight, the guilty quartet of cops exited the Atlas Terrace station on the western end of Atlas Terrace, and strutted down the northern side.

“Once we get to the Aurora,” the half-aboriginal leader explained, “we'll split up into pairs and watch both sides of the street for any suspicious activity. On no account are we to fuck with anyone tonight,” he added in a tone that indicated compliance.

“Yes, Flynt,” the other three chorused miserably.

Even though there technically wasn't a crime trade in the Vale, Torchwick had paid off this squad to keep their eyes peeled for any suspicious activity and partake in some of his own crimes themselves – of course, he'd _also_ done it to ensure the creation of an _actual_ crime trade would go relatively unnoticed and unhindered in the long run.

Their actions the previous day, however, had revealed to their superiors that corruption brought out the worst in them. To varying degrees, they had come to believe they were invincible, and Torchwick couldn't have that – mainly because _he_ believed he was invincible.

As they walked past the courthouse, Neon quickly noticed a van parked in a no-parking zone.

“Boys,” she called out, “we've got a car that needs to be shifted.”

The other three walked back to the alleyway she stood in front of.

“You weren't kidding, Neon,” Flynt said calmly. “Still, it wouldn't be too difficult to shift. Karl and Isa,” he called to the other two, “you two go ahead and investigate the van. If you need help, contact me immediately.”

“Got it, Flynt,” the pair intoned.

“As for myself and Neon, we'll cross the road and start our rounds.”

The group parted, with Flynt and Neon walking over the crossing outside the Aurora at a brisk pace. Karl and Isa, meanwhile, had walked to the rear of the van. Through a small gap in the back curtain, they spotted an Asian man sleeping in the rear of the craft. Isa, being somewhat green amongst the ranks, stepped back from the van and consulted his more wizened partner.

“How do you reckon we should handle this, mate?”

“Well,” Karl said understandingly, “he's probably resting up between shifts or something. It'd be for the best if we wake him gently and let him know about the no parking rule.”

Isa nodded, moving to open the van. At that precise moment, however, Karl got jumped from behind. Isa spun around to find two short men pinning his partner down, and pulled his pistol on them promptly.

“Grab some sky, halfwits!”

At that precise moment, the back door of the Vanagon opened wildly, hitting Isa in the small of the back. Ren had been awake the whole time, and had now emerged to handcuff his marks while Russel used a roll of duct tape to bind their mouths shut and Dove bundled them into the van. However, what the three hadn't noticed was that Isa, with great presence of mind, had managed to hit the “transmit” button on his radio when he was falling.

Isa had only managed to hold down said button for one second before he and Karl both got subdued, but it was all he needed to make Flynt and Neon run towards the alleyway posthaste. When the pair arrived, the alleyway was empty save for the van. Neon, probably the craziest member of the quartet, drew her pistol as she skulked towards the rear. Flynt, meanwhile, hesitated in front of the carpark. He'd managed to pick up a bad aura about the whole thing.

“Neon,” he called out, “don't enter the van just yet!”

Neon turned away from the rear of the van and leaned out from the back to speak to him.

“Why the fuck not, Flynt?”

At that precise moment, Neon was handcuffed and knocked out by Dove, while Russel taped her mouth shut. Flynt broke into a sprint, only for Cardin and Sky to emerge from the shadowed carpark. Brandishing their silenced Beretta 92's, they skilfully kneecapped the bent cop twice. Before Flynt could scream out loud for help, Dove and Russel played their parts.

Bundling the other two in the van, the five murderers drove off, with Ren giving a thumbs up to the office window. Pyrrha, returning the gesture, turned towards the exit. _I'll relieve Cinder first_ , she planned, _and then I'll let Blake know about Ren's success_.

* * *

At half-past nine that night, Blake's weekly booty call had finished. Waving goodbye as her blond stud sped off on his motorcycle, she donned her kimono and walked downstairs for some water. As Blake filled her glass and went to return, the phone rang.

“Heimdall to Odin, do you confirm?”

“That I do, Heimdall. So, Tyr's boys have caught their marks, eh?”, enquired Blake softly.

“Sure enough,” Pyrrha replied.

Blake's smile outdid a shark's in nastiness.

“Well, I can expect that they'll go _full military_ on them. And I look forward to seeing the results. Anyway, how are Frey and Thor holding up?”

“They're recovering pretty well, according to the doctors. Loki and Ran will be here to pick them up tomorrow afternoon.”

Blake was visibly relieved at this; she had feared losing two of her oldest friends to hate crime. Mercifully, her and Ruby's worries were all for nothing.

“Finally, any word from Ullr?”

“The last I heard was they'd gotten a lock on her mark. However, Hel found out who the so-called Mr. Taurus is; his real name is Adamo de Toro.”

Blake was equally shocked and angered at _this_ piece of news. _**Of course** _ _Sandra Bullshit's son had to surface_ _**now**_ , she lamented.

“Very well. Odin out.”

* * *

**Warning: torture and rape scenes start here. Skip until the last section if you wish to avoid them.**

* * *

After nearly an hour of trailing her mark all the way around the border road called Signal Circle, Ruby had tracked her mark to the very place where his descent into madness had started – the nature reserve where his father's remains were scattered. It was located at the point where the Vale met the countryside on the southern edge, only five blocks south from where Ruby and Pyrrha lived.

Parking her motorcycle inside the parking area, Ruby put on her plastic gloves, silenced her trusty sniper rifle, examined her combat knives, and walked past the tree line towards her prey. Ruby's movements were masked by both the birdsong and the noise that came from afar. She found Adam praying in a clearing four kilometres from the roadside. Ruby donned a lab coat, surgical mask and scrubs which she _loaned_ from the hospital, and drew her silenced weapon.

“And heavenly father,” prayed Adam fervently, “I pray that my soul be cleansed of the monster within me. He seized control of my body again and hurt a pair of women, and I know not how to contain him for much longer. I regret ever being born with this, and in the name of the Lord, I pray you forgive me. Amen.”

“Well, you're going to regret fucking my sister, you _**thundercunt!**_ ”

Adam spun around, gun in hand, only to fall forward as Ruby shot his nuts off. Dropping his gun, Adam was trying furtively to stop the bleeding as Ruby drew her Appelgate-Fairbairn combat knives. Adam's mouth was gagged with his own bandanna, as Ruby shoved her knives _agonisingly_ slowly into both of his eyes. Adam was blinded, wounded horribly, and felt his hands and feet get bound with duct tape. Taking a Polaroid of her victim, Ruby dragged him up the van's rear entrance, and bundled him into his own van.

Chancing upon a circular bandsaw within, Ruby moved the thing out of Adam's restrained reach before she frisked him. Retrieving the keys from her mark's front pocket, Ruby entered the driver's seat and spied a long-abandoned quarry a few kilometres further into the reserve. She expertly drove the van into the quarry, noticing as she arrived that someone had carelessly left a barrel of cheap oil unattended in an old blasting pit. Taking the bandsaw, Ruby dragged Adamo outside and laid him out next to the barrel.

Removing the knives from his damaged eyes, Ruby used more duct tape to bind the wounds shut, leaving Adamo groaning in pain as the adhesive burned into his eye sockets. Ruby then laid Adamo horizontally across the barrel and turned on the saw. Adamo screamed into his gag for the rest of his life as Ruby vertically sawed him in half, _arse first_. Finishing at the neck line, she completed her revenge by decapitating him, removing the tape and stuffing his halves upside down in the barrel, with his head floating on top. After taking a second Polaroid, Ruby reached for a flare gun and ran back to a safe distance.

It only took one shot.

* * *

As Ruby torched the van with the bloodied surgical clothes inside and walked towards her bike, the four bent cops awakened in considerable pain to find themselves under armed guard. They'd been bound and gagged, and were presently imprisoned in Yang's painting booth – which had been covered with plastic matting to make the mess easier to deal with. Oddly, there were a number of thin, long cacti in pots, amongst the hammers and other torture tools. Having just set his camera to record, Ren turned and stared the corrupt cops down.

“You're Atlas Terrace cops, right?”

Flynt nodded frantically.

“Well, I've got the keys to your station. You lucky drongos will hitch a lift with me to Atlas Terrace Station … once I'm done dealing with you. Starting with the candy girl that raped _two_ of my comrades while _you bastards_ stood guard. Hoist the flag, gentlemen.”

Cardin and Sky promptly lifted Neon a full two metres in the air, linking the harness they'd clasped around her neck and waist with a hook from the ceiling. Ren's expression changed suddenly, from hardened killer to innocent manchild.

“My goodness, she looks so colourful, hee-hee-hee hee! I've _mistaken_ her for a piñata!”

The false, child-like joviality in Ren's voice utterly spooked Neon, and she damned well _knew_ she wasn't living much longer.

Russel trained his pistol on Flynt and the other two cops, while Dove tossed a 14-inch long crowbar to Ren. Neon could do nothing to escape as Ren smiled nastily and shoved the crowbar up her womanhood. She screamed into her gag as he twisted it around her uterus like he was stirring his coffee.

“Come on; where's the candy, my beautiful little piñata?”, he whispered crazily.

After a pregnant pause, Ren removed the crowbar, picked up his hammer and _brutally_ bashed Neon while singing “Maxwell's Silver Hammer” to the amusement of his colleagues. When Ren was done with her, Neon had sustained a blown shoulder, four broken ribs, a fractured foot, and multiple bruises all over her delicate body before Ren went for the kill. Motioning his crew to lower the hook so that Neon landed onto the floor, Ren leant into her ear.

“Since you didn't give me any candy, I might just enjoy the fruit cakes on offer”.

What happened next was probably the nastiest act of evil that Ren had _ever_ inflicted on anyone in his thirty-nine years; he donned a condom, wrapped sandpaper around his penis, and sang “Sledgehammer” in perfect pitch while he … well, raped her as fiercely as he could. Sky turned towards the cops with a sickened expression, while Russel and Dove could only stare at each other in silent terror. Even _Cardin_ , the roughest bastard in Ren's group of Vietnam vets, was _disgusted_ with Ren's behaviour. _Thank Christ he doesn't go into “Joker Mode” every chance he gets,_ Cardin reflected as the sandpaper ate Neon's womanhood away. _I'll be having nightmares about this one for_ _ **a long while yet**_.

As Neon bled out and passed away, Ren cleaned himself off and reached for the blowtorch that Yang had provided, shooting a crazed smile at Flynt as his crew retrieved their hammers.

“Your turn to shine, pretty boy!”

Flynt's pant-shitting expression forever remained in Ren's memory as the murderer set fire to the cop's face. His crew followed suit with the hammers, battering the three remaining cops to death with quick ferocity.

* * *

**If you skipped those scenes, Ren and his crew killed the cops, and Adam was butchered by Ruby.**

* * *

After their respective missions were complete, both Ren and Ruby arrived at Blake's house at a quarter to one in the morning. Blake, amazingly, was still up at this point.

“You two brought your marks to their makers?”

Ren and Ruby nodded mutely, and Blake's face played host to a hardened, yet pleased expression.

“Excellent work. My garage is ready for you and yours to clean up in.”

As Ren and Ruby washed up in the garage with Ren's crew, Blake took the footage into her basement bunker. As usual after what she'd termed “vengeance” missions, Blake watched Ren's torture session once for her own amusement, and then destroyed the tape to be rid of the evidence. With the photographs, however, Blake had a different method of dealing with them. She went to the far wall of the basement, unlocked her private safe, and retrieved the contents – a scrap book, glue stick and a pencil.

 _These will make excellent additions to my memories book_ , Blake gleefully observed while gluing in the pictures of her latest five victims, listing the dates and crimes underneath each snapshot. Once she was finished, Blake resisted the urge to take a trip down her “memory lane” and locked her grimoire inside its safe again. _I hope Ren teaches the corrupt little piggies a lesson with the bodies of their grunts_ , she wished dangerously.

Even though she preferred to avoid killing cops when she could, Blake _wouldn't_ stand for any policeman abusing their power like that and getting away with it.

* * *

**A/N: So ... that was a thing.**

**First off, the next chapter will mark the introduction of the group of cops in the description, and will pick up from the morning after.**

**Second, I'm sorry that I spent so much of this chapter writing hasty phone calls between the mobsters. In my defense though, it's not like they had texting or Messenger back then.**

**Thirdly, I've seen fit to tell you all that there _won't_ be any more non-con sex after this chapter. As for the rest of the brutal stuff, of course it won't be the last time you see it. **

**One last thing - I've drawn up a rough map of the Vale where it's meant to be (which is vacant land IRL). Rather than scan a slightly shoddy drawing, I'd like to know if there's software out there than can help draw up a good quality map to post on here for your benefit. Let me know in the comments if you've come across something that can help me achieve that.**

**Anyway, thanks again for reading this. Feel free to review, leave kudos, and stay tuned for chapter six at the end of June.**


	6. Enter The Pigs

### Chapter Six: Enter The Pigs

The first detectives who arrived in Atlas Terrace Station on the morning of the 17th  were two of the most honest cops in a somewhat corrupted station. The male one of the duo, a blonde-haired gym monkey, had just made it to his desk in the new homicide office at seven that morning when he picked up an odd smell.

“Shit, that can't be right,” he muttered to himself suspiciously, and he started searching for the source of the odour.

Clambering down the stairs to the lobby, he was reorienting himself as the second cop walked in on him. This one was an impossibly beautiful brunette girl, and one of the freshest recruits in the Atlas Terrace station.

“What's going on, sarge?”

“There's a pretty odd, almost burnt chickeny kind of smell coming from somewhere in the station, and I was trying to locate it when you walked in. Could you help me find it?”

The newcomer signed in, and stood still as her strong sense of smell oriented her path.

“It's coming from the locker room. Follow me!”

She sped off, running much faster than the blonde man could after the preceding evening, and she made it there half a minute before he did. The woman retrieved her keys and opened the door, walking in while the man caught up and coughed his lungs out near the doorway. An _ear-piercing_ scream snapped him out of it, and he gingerly entered the locker room.

Staring Detective Sergeant Sun Wukong and Detective Constable Velvet Scarlatina down were the mutilated and charred remains of the four corrupted cops. What made the discovery even worse was that said remains had been deposited in their open lockers, with cacti shoved up each of their backsides.

Velvet's loud scream had startled some of the beat cops as they were rolling in, and before long the word had gotten out about the gruesome discovery. As the station's go-to forensic examiner set to work with her staff twenty minutes later, Sun found himself comforting a rather shaken Velvet.

“First time seeing this sort of thing, Velvet?”

Velvet nodded, never losing the haunted expression her face had taken on.

“I mean,” she started shakily, “I've seen car crashes, single-murder scenes and the like before, but _this_? This looks like it was less of a quadruple murder, and more of an execution from a horror film.”

Sun nodded in agreement; whoever had killed his colleagues _clearly_ meant business – or had unresolved business to settle with the cops themselves.

“Care for something to drink, Velvet?”

Velvet nodded. “Some water would do me nicely, sarge.”

Sun nodded, walking out towards the cafeteria that lay at the far end of the hall. Retrieving two bottles from the fridge, Sun ran back as fast as he could with the crowds in his way. Finally making his way to the locker room bench, Sun handed one of the bottles to Velvet, who gratefully accepted it.

“Thanks, sergeant.”

“Feel free to call me Sun, Velvet,” he reassured gently, while laying his right hand on Velvet's back in comfort as he drank with her.

* * *

About ten minutes later, the forensic examiner called a halt to their investigations while photographs were taken of the scene. Sun stood up and decided to glean some information, with Velvet following suit.

“Got anything for us, Doctor Polendina?”

The ginger New Zealander stood bolt upright to give the preliminary findings.

“Indeed I do, Sergeant Wukong. Given that rigor mortis has occurred and that livor mortis is at it's maximum effect, the four of them were likely murdered between eight and twelve hours ago. All four corpses have been burned significantly, the three males were bludgeoned to death with a hammer or a pair of hammers, and the female seems to have been bashed non-fatally with a crowbar.”

Sun and Velvet exchanged confused glances.

“How come she died then, Penny?”, Velvet enquired.

Penny shuffled uncomfortably. “Well, we've found significant evidence that an object wrapped in sandpaper was used to rape her. The abrasions seemed to have caused some internal haemorraging and … well, one gets the idea.”

Velvet _very nearly_ threw her breakfast up there and then. Even Sun, who'd been at the coalface of the so-called “bikie battles” the preceding year, looked disgusted. Rape, as everyone on the force agreed, was a special variety of evil.

“What about the cacti found in their rectums?”, Sun asked hesitantly.

Penny's expression was confused, like a computer struggling to make sense of the data supplied to it.

“I honestly don't know. I'd have posited that it was a calling card of some kind, but this is something I haven't encountered in nearly eight years on the job.”

“Likewise,” Sun replied. “We're either facing a serial-killing conspiracy of untold proportions, or these guys refused to be bought out by someone and suffered for it.”

“Sorry I'm late, officers,” a new voice spoke. “I was just getting debriefed about this turn of events, hence my tardiness this morning.”

Sun and Velvet spun around, and promptly stood to attention. Standing in front of them was a middle-aged, white-haired man in a pristine uniform.

“Superintendent Ozpin, sir!”

“At ease, detectives. There's two things that we've discovered. First, the CCTV tapes from last night went missing – obviously to mask the murderer's tracks.”

Sun frowned. “Of course they did.”

“The second part is distinctly more troubling,” Ozpin continued. “It concerns constables Coal, Katt, Idlescope, and Tistinctoria – they were likely killed because of their own corruption.”

Sun and Velvet's respective reactions were simultaneous.

“I fuckin' knew it!”

“WHAT?!”

* * *

Ozpin paused before he elaborated for Velvet's sake.

“As I have been just informed by Sergeant Rainart, the four murdered cops were responsible for bashing up a gay couple outside the Aurora nightclub, and there has been significant evidence handed to me by Rainart that suggested they were on someone else's payroll. Whether they were ordered to carry out the hit or not, we do not know. However, Sergeant Rainart has reason to believe that there is an unseen crime trade in the Vale, and that the four cops were murdered by it. Come up to my conference room in ten minutes; you two are set to be partners for one heck of an investigation.”

“Yes sir,” Sun averred.

“We won't let you down, guv,” Velvet chimed.

A slight smile formed on Ozpin's lips as he nodded, turning to be briefed by Penny.

As the duo of detectives walked out of the locker room on Ozpin's orders, Sun decided to strike up a conversation with his newly-minted partner.

“Well, Velvet, looks like their corruption's bitten them hard in the arse.”

Velvet rolled her eyes and opted not to snark.

“Sun, they're only rumours at this point and you know it.”

Sun bristled with indignation at this idea.

“Well, explain how I caught the four of them in a biker bar on the northern edge of Vale picking up drugs last month?”

Velvet paused in thought for a moment.

“Well, I'd heard that DI Port had reprimanded them severely for that. Apparently, they were trying to bust the man who sold them the drugs and you caught them at a bad time.”

Sun snorted. “They didn't seem to be downcast after that arsehole fled, so I'm not so sure about that.”

Walking up the staircase towards the conference room, Sun decided to continue the business talk.

“Who do you reckon will join our taskforce, Velvet?”

Velvet stroked her chin as she pondered her superior's words.

“I'm not sure, to be honest. Given our station's middling size and the ramifications of the bikie thing from last year, it wouldn't be prudent to take more detectives off their cases to flush out a hypothetical mafia. We'll likely be partnered with some beat cops who've been around a bit and share the workload equally.”

Sun nodded slowly. “Sounds about right, Velvet. I just hope we can get results without too much effort.”

“Agreed,” Velvet responded. “Ah, there's the conference room!”

Sun followed Velvet's gaze, and beheld the room, which sounded somewhat full.

“Come on, let's head in,” Sun motioned as the pair approached the room.

* * *

As the pair of detectives opened the doors, Velvet's prediction proved to be mostly true. Half a dozen officers sat around a table, two of them detectives, with Chief Inspector Glynda Goodwitch and Sergeant Hazel Rainart among them. Sun recognised some of his gym fiend colleagues amongst the patrolmen, while Velvet instantly spotted her closest friend in the new group.

But before any fraternisation between them could occur, Ozpin entered the room and sat at the head of the table, with Glynda and Hazel at both his sides. Once Sun shut and locked the door, Superintendent Ozpin started his briefing.

“Thank you all for gathering in light of what's happened today. As I'm sure you're all aware, we lost four of our uniformed officers this morning.”

Despite the somber mood in the room, Velvet could sense tension in everyone there. No doubt everyone had heard about the corruption in their ranks by now.

“I've been briefed by Dr. Polendina about the events of their deaths,” Ozpin continued. “To summarise her preliminary findings quickly, they likely died between 8pm and midnight last night, and all four were bashed with blunt instruments and burned significantly. One of them, we now know, was raped with an object wrapped in sandpaper, and small cactuses were left up each of their rectums post mortem.”

To a man, the younger officers cringed. Although their expressions were sympathetic, Glynda had been around too long to be shocked and Rainart had seen worse during his time as a corrections officer.

“As for the other troubling information,” the boss of Atlas Terrace continued, “I'll ask Sergeant Rainart to fill you in on this.”

Hazel nodded, then stood up at his full height and began the lowdown.

“As most of you already know by now, the four deceased officers were most likely on the payroll of a criminal, even though we have no clue as to who that might be.”

One of the beat officers, a scrawny Englishman with chestnut hair, decided to raise his hand, to Hazel's mild irritation.

“What is it, PC David?”

“Sir, if we don't know the person who'd bought them out, then how did you reach that conclusion?”

“Well,” Rainart responded with the faintest hint of frustation, “the quartet were caught by DS Wukong buying drugs off of a man in a bar on Signal Circle last month. Even though they claimed that they were trying to arrest the man, who fled the scene and successfully evaded the subsequent chase, I have my doubts.”

“Speaking of that man,” Sun interjected, “whatever happened to him? He was red-haired, tall and lanky, even had a white bandanna around his eyes. Not the sort of appearance that blends into a neighbourhood easily. We could try finding out that person's identity and see if he had anything to do with the murder.”

Rainart stroked his chin, and looked upwards in contemplation for a moment.

“That's … a good idea, Sun. No wonder Ozpin wanted you to lead the unit.”

* * *

“And regarding that unit,” Velvet piped up, “what is our mission?”

“I'm glad you asked, Velvet,” Ozpin began, motioning Hazel to sit down as the former arose. “The unit I'm forming today will focus solely on unusual homicide, drug-related and/or organised crimes in the Vale – as a means of replacing the four slain officers from the vice squad, and finding the truth regarding their murder and corruption. I'm dubbing it the Rosewood Task Force, and the unit will directly report to Chief Inspector Goodwitch.”

Affirmations were heard all around the room at this idea. Finally, the other woman in the room raised her hand, and Ozpin answered her.

“Yes, DC Adel?”

“Two things, sir. First off, are we getting a dedicated office to work in; secondly, I'd like to know what sort of reach we have when it comes to rooting out corruption – particularly when it comes to government, police, and so on.”

“The second question is still being ironed out with Mayor Lionheart,” Ozpin responded calmly, “but the first one is getting settled today. Since the renovations of the eastern wing were completed last week, the vice and homicide squads have already moved in. There's enough space left over for an even blend of detectives and uniforms to work in comfortably. If you would all follow me, I'll lead you there to get yourselves set up.”

Nearly an hour later, the furnished office space next to homicide on the first floor had been claimed by what the station had unanimously dubbed the Rosewood Eight. A small room on the west wall doubled as the briefing room and as Sun and Velvet's office, the adjacent room on the northwest corner by the lift served as the evidence and collation office, with the main space outside used by the other five officers in the task force.

Sun and Velvet, both homicide detectives, were appointed as leader and second-in-command respectively. PC Fox Alistair, a blind Aboriginal man, served as the collator. DC Coco Adel and DC Yatsuhashi Daichi represented the vice squad, with PC Scarlet David and PC Neptune Vasilias as the pair of beat cops in the arrangement. As for PC Sage Ayana, the tall Samoan highway patrolman was added to provide a safe pair of hands behind their area car's wheel.

Sun, having shifted his and Velvet's belongings to their new office, was about to assist Coco and Yatsuhashi with organising the evidence room when DI Port ran in breathlessly.

“Officers Wukong and Scarlatina,” he panted, “your first case is at the quarry next to the nature reserve. When I spoke with Dispatch Officer Pine, he responded that the beat wants you to look into it.”

“News travels fast!”, Velvet gasped.

“Was it a homicide?”, Sun enquired.

Port gave him a _haunted_ look.

“Like you wouldn't believe.”

Nearly an hour later, the three detectives returned to the station. Coco had just finished organising the office with the rest of the taskforce when she caught sight of her superiors. Velvet had a vomit stain on her left sleeve, Sun was brooding with anger, and Port looked _especially_ spooked. _Jesus_ , Port fretted manically,  _if_ _ that's _ _what happens to drug pushers, then_ _**how** _ _will these officers get dealt with when they strike oil?!_

* * *

The funeral for the murdered police officers was held on the 19th  of March, delayed in no small measure to the _painstaking_ forensic examinations that Doctors Oobleck and Polendina were compelled to carry out. Despite their intense scouring for evidence, the DNA of the perpetrators was never found; even fingerprints and hair didn't show up at any spot. Operation Rosewood's staff were _furious_ , to put it mildly.

Similarly, whomsoever had butchered Adam Taurus was _infinitely_ careful to avoid hair or fingerprints, and this had driven Port to up his drinking considerably. In what seemed to be an act of generosity in Ozpin's eyes, he and Hazel had voluntarily arranged for his funeral – in reality, they'd wanted to as soon as the body was found, but neither man wanted to get spotted by Taurus's murderer if they were out for more blood.

So it came as a relief to both men when they'd heard that Roman wanted to privately inter him in his backyard – on the same day as their goons, by staggering coincidence – as well as hold off on any illicit activity until that day had passed.

“After all,” Roman pointed out, “it would be prudent in the long run to wait while the mafia forgets all about them.”

Roman's compound was located in the wealthiest part of the Vale, at the end of Haven Lane, and to all extents and purposes looked like the standard mansion one would find there – complete with a state-of-the-art security system and guard dogs. Mere hours after Team FNKI's funeral, the autumn evening played host to a dark gathering. After such a devastating setback on a personal and professional level, the remaining members of Torchwick's conspiracy were honour-bound to attend.

With Roman conducting the ceremony, Adam Taurus's closed casket was taken from the driveway with Watts, Mercury, Hazel and Port as the pallbearers. Asides from them, Emerald was the only sane attendee present; the other attendee was an unhinged meth-addicted hitman named Tyrian. For the sake of the occasion, he'd been stuffed into an ill-fitting suit and told to sit down. The mere sight of him gave her the creeps, and his supine hazel eyes only added to his creepiness. And as for his laugh … well, Emerald never stopped trying to forget it. As the coffin was placed in its hole, the others took their seats.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Torchwick began, “we're here today to pay our last respects to Adamo de Toro. The last scion of the White Fang mafia syndicate, a now mythical group who were slaughtered to the last ten years ago ...”

Over the following twenty minutes, Roman delivered an eulogy which would have awarded him a parish to preach in for the rest of his life. After all, Adamo had worked as Roman's bodyguard since he'd moved to Brisbane in 1982; they'd known each other for years, and had watched each other's backs time and time again during what they'd termed “the Ipswich operation”.

When Roman had finished, the rest of the attendees applauded loudly. Emerald and Dr. Watts had even managed to tear up slightly in response to the heartfelt message provided by their colleague. The men in attendance then stood up, retrieved some shovels that Roman had provided, and began filling the gravesite with great reverence while Emerald provided a shoulder for Roman to lean and weep on.

After the men in attendance had finished the burial, the group dispersed around the grounds. A somewhat shaken Port was led inside by Emerald, while Tyrian quickly disappeared to parts unknown. Hazel, meanwhile, joined Dr. Watts and Mercury as they retreated to a pair of park benches near the back fence.

* * *

“So doc,” Mercury started, “you said earlier that you wished to convene a meeting for our group?”

The Englishman nodded. “Indeed I did, Mercury. I wish to hold one at my office at the corner of Mistral and Haven on the 24th  to plan a potential first foray into our crime spree.”

“Glad to hear it, gentlemen,” called Roman as he approached with a slightly tipsy Port. “What did you have in mind, Arthur?”

“Well, there are two high-class restaurants in this side of town; the Amity and the Vytal. It would be a shame indeed if one of them had a kitchen fire that got out of control. Especially if some _uncouth persons_ went and robbed it beforehand. Such a move could even boost your business.”

Roman knew _exactly_ what he was getting at.

“I read you. We'll need a fast car to get away quickly; I hope yours will suffice, doctor.”

Watts nodded in response. “It will be. I've taken my XJS to the mechanic I bought it from, in order to fix a few oil leaks in the engine. According to the woman who sold it to me, they're due to finish it on the 24th .”

“Good to hear, Arthur,” Roman responded. “As for you two,” indicating Port and Hazel, “what happened to the Vytal on the 30th?”

Port was a bit too out of it to come up with something on the fly, so Hazel answered in his place.

“A lone operator burned the restaurant down; after the fact, an opportunistic looter removed the cash from the premises.”

Roman chuckled drily and handed the pair their pay checks – one and a half grand between them.

“Good to hear it, gentlemen,” he cackled with false joviality.

“Shall we shake on the deal?”, Port blurted out drunkenly.

“Very well, you old soak,” Watts replied as he stood up and shook Peter's hand.

Roman duly did the same with Hazel's hand.

“Chaps,” Mercury announced heartily, “this is the start of a new era for our 'Grand Retinue of Intrepid Money-grubbing Masterminds'. The age of the “Grimm” is finally here.”

And little did they know that there was an RCA VHS camcorder trained on them, with a pair of silver eyes watching their every move.

* * *

Thanks to intelligence from Ren, Ruby had been assigned to monitor Team FNKI's funeral from a distance – after a Blake-imposed moratorium on mob activity since Valentine's Day, the murderess had been _itching_ to do something. She'd spotted DI Port and Sergeant Rainart, the two corrupted cops, trailing away from the service shortly afterwards. Rather than adjourning to the wine bar near Sanctum Cemetery with the rest of the attendees, the pair had hopped into Port's Morris Minor and drove quickly down to the south end of Mistral Boulevard.

Trailing them in her Commodore, Ruby quickly discovered the location of Roman's compound at the very end of Haven Lane, which they entered without resistance from the guard. Knowing full well that said guard wouldn't buy any disguise or false pretence of her own design, Ruby made her way out of Haven Lane and turned left onto the last section of Mistral Boulevard. Turning left onto the south-eastern corner of Signal Circle, Ruby rode to a spot halfway between the turnoff to Menagerie Street and the end of Windpath Drive.

Parking on the left side of the street, Ruby entered the children's park which was empty at present. Approaching the tree line next to Roman's back fence, the murderess thanked her lucky stars that there were no cameras in sight. There was a wire cyclone fence, doubtlessly electrified, which divided a pair of immaculate, thick hedgerows. Quickly finding a small hole in the hedgerows, Ruby then produced her portable film camera. The service over the fence drowned out the sound of the camera whirring, and Ruby lay down full stretch to capture what she could.

Naturally, she'd had her mic level set on full, and the lack of a breeze meant that wind noise wouldn't hamper the sound unduly. So long as she kept silent, Ruby would have a field day with this. However, the murderess had deemed the service itself to be especially boring, with plenty of what she construed as bullshitting on Torchwick's part. However, the conspicuous absence of a certain midget made Ruby nervous. _If our old consigliere isn't partaking in the festivities_ , she reasoned, _then she_ _must_ _have been captured by these fiends._ So the whacker renewed her resolve and listened attentively throughout the sordid affair.

Once the affair was finished, Ruby could only lie down in horrified silence when Torchwick and his cronies started their discussion not three metres away. _This is_ _ catastrophic_, she observed fretfully. _Not only do we run the risk of losing her restaurant, our mechanics will have inadvertently aided it's destruction._ After ruminating on the possibilities, Ruby came up with a plan as the conspirators stood up. _It's dangerous_ , she conceded, _but it will save us_ _ so much hell _ _in the long run_. Ruby was able to take stills of the conspirators exchanging money and shaking hands, then picked up her camera and crawled away.

When she packed her car and locked it up, Ruby decided to be diligent and double-check if she'd left anything in her hiding spot. Running there in her burgundy tracksuit, Ruby spotted nothing within the hedgerow, and ran straight back to her car. Little did she know that Emerald had spotted her in her peripheral vision as she led Torchwick inside. “Hmm ...”, Emerald muttered, “just a jogger on their evening run, I suppose.”

When Ruby made it to Blake's house later that night, she heard a series of loud drunken shouts coming from the lounge, and quickly entered the room with a written plan in her hands. Upon discovering her boss making an ungodly scene in an unusually messy lounge, Ruby promptly surmised that only one thing was on her employer's mind.

“ _ **How**_ _in the_ _ **fucking fuck**_ _did my beloved Panthers get steamrolled 28-8 by_ _ **the bloody Broncos**_ _?!_ After the Eels beat the Eagles 22-20 _**and**_ the Sharks walloped the Raiders 32-14, _**no-one's**_ _going to_ _ **give me a break**_ _this week_ _!_ ”

Ruby sighed as she sat her boss down on the couch. It was going to be a _really_ long night.

* * *

**A/N: Finally, teams SSSN and CFVY enter the picture.**

**On a side note, thanks to whomsoever made a trope page on TvTropes for this work. I'm flattered, honestly. As for the query raised about Yang's heritage on there, I'll say that her father's family hail ultimately from Hong Kong, interbreeding with English folk in the lead-up to her father being born in England.**

**Lastly, I'm not sure if I'll have a chapter out by the end of July. It's still in the air at the moment, but don't be surprised if there isn't one.**


	7. Lines Drawn

### Chapter Seven: Lines Drawn

Blake woke up close to midday the following morning, to the smell of KFC. Unsteadily getting to her feet, the hungover mafioso staggered into her kitchen, finding a number of items on her counter. A mostly full bucket of chicken took pride of place in the centre, along with a hand-written note and two pieces of A4 paper stapled together. Between these and the sink stood a glass of water and a couple of aspirin tablets. Downing the water and tablets, Blake picked up the note and began to read it.

_Blake,_

_I've completed my reconnaissance mission, and this conspiracy is looking_ _ even worse _ _than any of us realised._ _I've left the details in the file I wrote out for you, while I get Cinder to prepare the tape so we can review it here tonight. And before you ask me why I didn't tell you straight away, I felt obliged to detail a plan of action in accordance with the information I've collected. Whether you decide to go with it or change it is entirely up to you. Also, finding you staggeringly drunk and depressed about the rugby results had a hand in me not telling you until now. Hope the chicken and aspirin help you recover._

_Much love,_

_Ruby._

Blake shook her head at this. _I must've behaved like a right_ _**stronzo** _ _towards Ruby_ , she said as she picked up the bucket and papers. _The least I can do is sound her plan out and see if it's feasible if we want to make it work_. Walking up the staircase, Blake decided to go into her war room on the landing's right side to pore over the information, rather than recover in her bedroom on the left or use the hideout room opposite the staircase.

Needless to say, the mafioso had grown up in an unconventionally-designed house, due in no small measure to her father running his own construction business as a front. When she'd grown old enough to not require nightly assistance from her parents, the basement became her childhood bedroom. This was a deliberate move on Ghira's part, as a means of protecting her if some punk or traitorous mafioso decided to come for him during the night. Furthermore, Blake was never allowed in the upper floor of her own house until her father began to initiate her into the lifestyle of the mafia, which happened around the age of twelve.

She'd only been in the war room twice before founding the Bellas; once to observe a meeting of what became the White Fang, and another time to help her mother document his assets once he'd been killed. Allied with the degree of autonomy Blake had granted her soldiers and captains with regards to planning and executing their duties, it was no surprise that the war room was considered hallowed ground to the entirety of the Goodbellas, and used only in the direst of situations. Given that _Ruby_ saw fit to plan something before giving her the details, Blake had an instinctive feeling that she'd need to use this room.

She sat down at the desk next to the whiteboard, eating the chicken slowly as the first page was examined. Blake's expression did not change from her vulture-like business face as she took note of Ruby's information. The rest of the mafioso's body betrayed this expression by shivering with worry. _**Bloody** _ _**shitsticks**_ , she thought tremulously. _I hope to whatever higher power that's listening out there that these bastards didn't spot Ruby when she was doing this._

As she turned the page, Blake then beheld Ruby's plan. It was astonishingly simple: _Steal the accountant's car before the 30_ _th_ _, then torch the Amity. Get the whole Steals on Wheels crew to do it without suspicion_. Blake pulled out a sheet of paper, retrieved a pencil and set to work. She'd need her murderer and spy to help with certain details, but Ruby's succinct idea was all Blake needed to set off the pathways in her brain.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, Nora had just finished ordering in the latest batch of beer and vodka for the Aurora when her phone rang.

“You've reached management of the Aurora nightclub, how can I be of service?”

“Odin to Thor, do you confirm?”

Nora straightened up in her seat.

“I do confirm, Odin. What business do you wish to inform me about?”

“It concerns the mission Ullr was sent on yesterday. There have been some troubling revelations about torching my business, with a getaway car that Frey and Heimdall are working on involved in the mix.”

Nora gasped.

“ _ **Godverdomme!**_ What do you suggest we do?”

“I have a plan to counteract the fiends. You are to come to my place at seven tonight to hear it out. And I'll leave it to you to ring Loki, Frey and Heimdall and order them to come at the same time. Ullr and Hel will already be there.”

“You've got it. Thor out.”

And sure enough, two thirds of the Bellas leadership gathered within the war room that very night. In terms of the design, the room lay somewhere between a classroom and a courtroom. A whiteboard took pride of place at the back, with several stills of their marks blue-tacked on for reference. In lieu of a witness stand and judge's seat, Blake had a high-quality office chair stashed behind a perspex lectern on the right side of the room.

Jaune, usually the chief notetaker, decided to go with Cinder's idea of recording the meeting on tape, with man and tape machine both seated next to the door. He'd promised to get tonight's plans transcribed (by getting Cinder to do it for him) and handed to Nora for making the orders within the next three days. Nora and Yang, meanwhile, sat side by side at the left desk, with Cinder and Pyrrha at the opposite desk.

Ruby was the last to enter, her lithe frame never struggling with two family-sized pizzas and a twelve-pack of Cooper's Pale Ale. After doling out the food and beers, the murderess sat on a stool against the far window while Blake wheeled a small TV set with a VCR inside, playing the recording Ruby had captured the preceding day while the mobsters had dinner.

* * *

After the tape finished playing to a rather shocked crowd, Jaune started the tape machine and Blake began her spiel, looking rather ashen-faced.

“So now you all know why you were summoned here, as well as the sort of thing we're up against. These “GRIMM” people plan to burgle and torch my restaurant on the 30th, using a car that your mechanics are working on at the moment.”

Yang and Pyrrha sent each other knowing looks.

“Which car is meant to be used?”, Nora asked worriedly.

“According to our records,” Pyrrha responded, “it's a 1988 black Jaguar XJS convertible, owned by a bent accountant called Dr. Arthur Watts.”

“Anyway,” Blake continued, “he's one of the men working with Torchwick, and is likely responsible for funding their mission. I don't want to cause an all-out war with these people, but we need to show them that the Vale is off-limits. Therefore, my plan to stop this is three-fold.

“First, I'd like to know what's going on with their application plans. Given that Watts is an accountant, it would be reasonable to assume that he's got copies of the whole plans in his office on the corner of Mistral and Haven. Ruby, I'd like you to spy on this meeting on the 24th first. However, you won't be alone in this task.”

“How so?”, the Mancunian replied.

“Well, in order to get to those plans, we'll need a bit of burgling and safecracking on hand.”

Pyrrha's face lit up in recognition.

“You wish to have Octavia and Gwen in on this, right?”

Blake nodded. “Indeed, but that's not the whole story. The next step is the car. To avoid arousing suspicion, you'll hand him the car – but you must convince him to pay it back by lay-by.”

Pyrrha nodded sharply. “Shouldn't be a problem, Blake. What happens when he does this?”

“Afterwards,” the mafioso replied, “we'll ask Dew to seduce Watts and steal the spare key to his car. Roy will then _misplace_ the first payment and provide _evidence_ that Watts missed said payment. When that happens, I'd like Pyrrha to drive his car away on the 29th while leaving a copy of the _evidence_.”

“It will be done,” Pyrrha averred.

“What about the third step?”, Nora enquired.

“The third involves torching the Amity restaurant on Mistral Boulevard. For this, we'll need the remainder of Yang and Pyrrha's crews.”

Yang's attention reasserted itself.

“What would you have us do?”

Blake made eye contact with her old friend.

“First, I'll have Nebula and Cinder team up to pinch a master key for the Amity and get a layout of the premises. Given how easy it was for Cinder to infiltrate the restaurant last time, acquiring these shouldn't be a problem. Meanwhile, I'd like Nolan to construct the bombs.

“At the stroke of midnight on the 30th, you'll drive Brawnz and May there to place the bombs and set up the fuses. While they're at it, get Gwen and Octavia to relieve the bastards of their money, CCTV and alarms. Once the four are all done, you get to set the sky alight with a misplaced cigarette, and the Amity goes up with no fatalities.”

* * *

At this point, Ruby raised her hand.

“Yes, Ruby?”, Blake asked.

“As we saw earlier, those corrupt cops have been warned about this. What's to stop _them_ from torching the Vytal if Torchwick's people get prevented from doing so?”

Blake thought, then her face settled into a termite-toothed shark smile.

“I'd suggest you take that still of them accepting bribes, and hand it straight into the station. Preferably into an honest cop's hands.”

Ruby nodded.

“Consider it done.”

She had an idea of who to go to with this.

“Are we all clear on this plan?”, Blake asked finally.

Her question was responded to by a chorus of affirmations.

“Very well. Have this transcribed as soon as you can, Jaune. I'll leave it to you and Nora to dole out the official orders for Yang, Pyrrha and their crews.”

Jaune nodded, and stopped the tape. Cinder helped him pack the machine up, then turned to Blake while Jaune and Nora hauled it down to his blue '84 Holden Calais.

“There's one thing I'd like to ask you before I leave, Blake.”

“What is it?"

“My brother is on the wait staff at the Amity. When it gets torched, he'll need somewhere to work. Is it alright if you employ him after the disaster?”

Blake concentrated for ten long seconds, then responded in kind.

“That's alright by me. No doubt he unwittingly helped you spy on Torchwick and his cronies last month, so I technically owe him one.”

Cinder smiled gratefully.

“Thank you so much, Blake. I owe you a favour for this.”

As Cinder sauntered after Jaune and Nora with Ruby's footage in hand, Blake decided to repair to her room with the last beer. Pyrrha and Yang, meanwhile, had begun to clean the war room of food waste and empty beer bottles, mostly by devouring them in the case of Yang. Ruby, meanwhile, held the little still she got of DI Port and Sergeant Rainart and silently skulked outside.

Walking down to the apartment complex on the north-west corner of Beacon and Sanus, she took off her boots and crept silently over the eastern courtyard towards the stairwell. _Let's think about this_ , Ruby reminded herself as she traipsed up to a landing halfway between the first and second floor.  _Was her flat the third one on the second floor, or the other way around?_

She crept towards the second floor quickly, then peeked around the corner. The third door down had been kicked in, and the boarded-up windows suggested there had been an eviction recently. _Well_ _ that _ _settles it_ , Ruby rationalised as she ascended the next two flights of stairs. _She's on the second flat on the third floor_. _I'd better make a note of that_. Walking softly towards the door, Ruby found all the confirmation that she needed.

Staring at her from the window was a young rabbit in its cage. _After all this time, my old hairdresser's_ _ still _ _a sappy idiot for animals_ , Ruby warmly reflected. _Even with her new career, she never can stop finding strays to look after_. Placing the photographs within the letterbox through the door, Ruby quietly hauled arse out of the complex, never donning her boots until she was halfway home.

* * *

Velvet Scarlatina awoke at the stroke of seven on the 21 st  of March. Shrugging off her beauty sleep, the young cop fired up her kettle on her stove and loaded her toaster. After placing her bag of Earl Grey inside her favourite mug, Velvet fed her pet rabbit it's dose of lettuce and left some dry food for the three stray cats who roosted on her fire escape. Hearing the sharp whistle of the kettle, she deftly poured out her daily dosage of tea, adding only half a teaspoon of sugar to take the sting off of it.

After she'd slowly drunk the first half of her cup, the toaster ejected two browned pieces of light rye bread, which she slathered with butter and Vegemite. “Alright,” Velvet said to herself, “let's fetch the post.” She strode towards her door, and discovered something most unusual. There were no letters at all. Instead, a pair of photographs were lying face down on the doormat. “That's odd,” Velvet noted as she picked them up. “Let's see what these are.”

She carried them back with her to her breakfast nook, placing them next to her toast and tea. After eating her toast, Velvet flipped the photographs over. Thankfully, she hadn't been drinking her tea when she processed the images staring at her.

“ _ **They're taking bribes?!**_ ”

After placing the images in her handbag, Velvet drained the last half of her tea and hurtled into her bedroom to dress. She hastily threw on her jeans, along with a white blouse and her trademark leather boots and jacket, both of which were chocolate brown. Fetching her keys, Velvet cleaned her breakfast items up, retrieved her handbag and helmet and locked the apartment behind her. It was getting close to eight o'clock, and she needed to make good time before the rush hour kicked in.

Entering her parking space in the north-west corner of the complex, Velvet put the keys in her '86 Kawasaki Vulcan 400 and wheeled it towards the parking lot's gated entrance on Sanus Street. Waving her access card for the entrance's electronic gate past the sensor, Velvet wheeled it onto the street. Given most of her neighbours were rather elderly, she always did her neighbours the courtesy of not firing her bike up until she was sure the noise wouldn't intrude on their rest.

Flooring it up Sanus Street, Velvet concentrated on the road ahead of her. Riding up the hill, she saw the rapidly approaching T-junction that formed the southern edge of Solitas Square. Very much regarded as _the_ centre of the Vale, the square not only housed the war memorials for the district, but also played host to the Mantle Courthouse. Turning left and following the square around to the mid-point of Atlas Terrace, Velvet peeled down towards the western end of the nightlife district and turned right into the staff carpark at the station.

Making her way inside, Velvet cantered into the Operation Rosewood area at half-past eight, entering her and Sun's office just before any of her colleagues did. She fired up the photocopier, then made two copies of each still. Retrieving her pen, she wrote a very simple caption underneath each picture: _Either resign today, or get arrested tonight._

Dividing the images to make two non-identical pairs, Velvet stashed them both in two A3 envelopes, and dropped them off at their respective offices. Thankfully for her, Sergeant Rainart had been busy dealing with a swathe of rowdy drinkers last night and thusly wasn't going to be in his office until later that day, and Port was taking a leak at the time. Velvet calmly returned upstairs and left the originals within a third envelope in Chief Inspector Goodwitch's pigeonhole. She made her desk right before her team leader walked in.

“Morning, Velvet,” Sun began cheerfully. “Get up to much before I came in, my workaholic friend?”

Velvet, herself a trained expert at banter, decided to go for the jugular.

“Not really, but you sure got something done last night.”

Sun gave off a confused expression.

“I'm not sure what you mean by that. What gives you that impression?”

Velvet's face arranged itself into what Coco had dubbed “the megawatt smirk”.

“There's shaving cream in your left ear and you're having trouble walking. No doubt you bonked too hard for your own good this morning.”

Sun was utterly put out, and sat down wordlessly as Velvet began to laugh.

* * *

At five-forty that very evening, Ruby and Pyrrha were hosting Yang and Cinder for a roast dinner. Blake and Nora, as per usual, were working at the Aurora, Jaune was out celebrating a colleague's birthday, and both Weiss and Ren cared nought for the evening's debating topic and elected to stay in their apartment.

“Anyway,” Ruby began, “Blake was completely plastered when I returned with the footage that night. Apparently, watching the Panthers get mauled like that will cause our boss to raid her own wine cellar.”

“Tell me you've got _something_ to show for her drunken rampage, Ruby,” Yang pleaded with an _impish_ brand of glee.

Smiling sweetly, Ruby retrieved and held up a Polaroid from her purse. It showed Blake ignominously slumped face-first on the couch, with a bottle of Jacob's Creek in her left hand and her white skirt splayed on the floor – giving the viewer a pleasant shot of Blake's backside in all its glory. After three seconds of stunned silence, the women all roared with laughter.

“I can see this in a gallery exhibit now,” Yang joked between rapid breaths. “Ruby Rose presents: The Bellabooty, the place where male virginity comes to die!”

Pyrrha unleashed a spit take, while Cinder and Ruby were keeled over giggling.

After the laughter died down and the oven timer dinged, Yang set the table while the auburn lesbians removed the roasted meat and vegetables. Cinder, who'd never had much preference when it came to cuisine, was surprised to find herself salivating _heavily_ at the lamb, potatoes and carrots that got served up.

“Righto, let's get stuck in!”, Yang decreed heartily.

The other three sat down and plated their meals, never pausing when they tore into the meat like vultures. Halfway through the meal, the ravenous hunger of the group had been sated enough to allow for conversation to take place.

“So,” Ruby began, “did everyone else have a good week with the rugby?”

“Well,” Yang began, “the Sharks were in impressive form, even though Wilson missed a couple of conversions.”

“How come the Raiders lost so badly, then?”, Cinder asked.

Yang donned a shit-eating grin. “Well, the main reason was that the Raiders weren't _trying_ hard enough.”

That egregious pun elicited a chorus of groans from Cinder and the auburn lesbians, while Yang chuckled to her own pun.

“In all seriousness though, they had two tries to our seven.”

“Right,” Cinder added. “What about you and Ruby's team, Pyrrha?”

“It was much closer with the Eels,” Pyrrha added. “Though the Eagles had one more try than us, O'Connor missed a couple of conversions, and we got two penalty shots at the goal. Fitzhenry nailed all five conversions.”

“Impressive,” Yang conceded.

“What about your team, Cinder?”

Cinder looked equal parts guilty and frustrated at Ruby's innocent question.

“Well, thanks to Ellison missing all three of our blasted penalty shots and a watertight defence from the Roosters, the Rabbitohs got buggered six ways from Sunday.”

The other three ladies smirked, and Cinder _knew_ the lamb wasn't the only thing getting roasted tonight.

“Well,” Yang started impishly, “considering that Jaune also supports the Rabbitohs, it does surprise me that you weren't sympathetic enough to let him bugger _you_ six ways from Sunday!”

And thus started a fifteen-minute grilling of Cinder Fall.

After the twin roasts were finished, the four women decided to turn on the television. The ABC News flickered to life at the stroke of seven.

“Good evening, I'm Cyril Ian, and here's the news,” the veteran newscaster began. “First, there were dramatic scenes today in the Vale as two ranking officers were arrested. Lisa Lavender's currently on site reporting on these developments.”

The room fell dead silent as the silver-haired reporter illuminated the screen.

“Thank you Cyril. I can confirm that Detective Inspector Peter Port and Sergeant Hazel Rainart were arrested today on bribery and corruption charges, with more charges expected to come pending the investigation. Apparently, an anonymous source gave photographic evidence to the police overnight. However, the station has remained tight-lipped on the allegations themselves. Back to you, Cyril.”

As the news blared on, Ruby silently thanked Velvet for living up to her do-gooder reputation, while the other three loudly thanked Ruby for throwing an almighty spanner in the works.

* * *

Walking from Ruby's place an hour later, Yang said goodbye to Cinder, who was driving Jaune's Calais back to his house.

“He's never been that great of a driver,” Cinder replied to Yang's inevitable question, “and he trusts me with it more these days.”

“No doubt it's due to the fact you're riding him as well as you do with the car!”, Yang mirthfully observed.

Cinder was already flustered over getting hazed over Jaune, and this drove her to do something she'd never done before. Namely, extend the middle finger on her left hand and kiss it as she drove away.

Yang shook her head with a rueful smile, then started walking. As she stepped past the fence line, Yang noticed that Blake's Corona was parked in her driveway, about an hour earlier than usual.

“Well, I'd better tell Blake that Ruby succeeded in her mission,” Yang muttered to herself.

Walking towards the front door, the mechanic heard a variety of noises that indicated the presence of Blake's latest boy-toy. Creeping towards the window, Yang beheld a sight she'd never expected from the dignified, cultured head of her gang. Blake was wearing a pair of knee-high purple tights, with a white skirt, black blouse and dress shoes, and most unsettlingly, wore a pair of fake cat ears.

The man she was on top of looked like a blonde beefcake, with his denim shorts around his ankles and white button-down shirt completely opened. He had a yellow dildo taped to an equally yellow stocking, which had been stuffed with newspapers and tied to the small of his back. Taking a quick picture and running, a deeply-unsettled Yang came home and failed to rinse her brain of the memory with tequila.

As it turned out, mafia business _could_ be postponed sometimes.

* * *

At eleven the following morning, as the headlines spilled about police corruption within the Vale, Neo Politana came to within her cell. The 22 nd  of March marked her 100  th  day in captivity, and it was set to be the worst day of all, given how badly her captor had reacted to the corruption charges. Hidden within the basement of the manor of Haven Lane, the lithe lady could only hear faint glimpses of Roman's shouting from two floors up. Finally, Roman stormed into the room with a manically happy expression on his face.

“Alright, little mouse,” he began with false joviality, “I'm in dire need of some stress relief.”

Neo trembled in mute terror as the ginger developer retrieved a lighter from his breast pocket.

“The Vytal is set to go down in flames on the 30th, and I can't keep my hands still long enough for that … so I'll _have_ to start torturing you.”

“... why?!”, Neo croaked tearily.

Roman's expression shifted from dangerous glee to psychotic rage, and his tone went the same way.

“Well, it's been 3 months, and _you_ have given me _**jack shit**_ regarding the whereabouts of your colleagues in the vigilante trade.”

He ripped off Neo's creased shirt, removed his pants, and stroked her abdomen possessively.

“So I'll set up a sperm bank within your ovaries, and I'll donate first to the whore of Babe-ylon.”

“WAIT!”, Neo cried out as Roman reached for her pants. “Th–the owner of the Vytal is Blake Belladonna, and _she_ is the leader of the group!”

Roman stayed his hand, and concentrated for a moment. When his voice returned, it sounded kinder.

“Well, that's something. Anything else I should know?”

Neo frantically nodded.

“Her address is 122 Beacon Street,” she lied. It was Ruby's address, and Neo reasoned that her captor would be stupid enough to try burgling an ex-military murderess.

Roman bought it completely.

“ _That's_ more like it!”, he exclaimed giddily as he ran out of the room, never paying heed to the tear-stained mess of a woman in his sound-proofed basement. Reaching the top floor, he ran into the guest room where Emerald was staying, dancing around like a sugar-rushed child.

“She squealed! She squealed!”, Roman sung giddily.

“What shall we do, boss?”, Emerald enquired calmly.

Roman promptly fell back to earth.

“Well, with Hazel and Port arrested, we can't do much before the robbery. I'd say, wait until the Vytal goes up, then we'll pay a visit to the address.”

“Got it,” Emerald replied.

* * *

**A/N: I hope I got the rugby talk correct. Coming from a part of Australia which doesn't have a rugby team in the national league, and consequently having zero passion or knowledge for it, I found that whole scene difficult to write.**

**In case any rugby fans out there are wondering about the matches, I stumbled upon a database which had the scorecards for the whole NSWRL season** **( found here: <http://www.rugbyleagueproject.org/seasons/nswrl-1989/results.html>) , and simply restated those matches.  ** **Considering how bananas Sydneysiders get about rugby, I felt obliged to do it right. In any case, anything less would fall flat and disrespect the art of literature.**

**Anyway, I hope you guys have enjoyed the ride so far. The execution of the counterplan awaits at the end of August!**

 


	8. Watts The Fool Believes

### Chapter Eight: Watts The Fool Believes

The 23 rd  was spent in varying ways by the staff at Real Steals on Wheels. Nora rolled in at 11 that very morning with the official orders – except for Ruby and Cinder's files, which had been given already. She duly handed them to Pyrrha, who set them aside for later distribution. At half-past six that night, Pyrrha and Yang assembled their total workforce in Yang's stock room. Pyrrha handed out the various orders as Yang began to address the staff.

“Tomorrow, you people will begin the first strike against the conspiracy that May tipped us off to, and the plan is threefold. I'll leave it to you all to peruse your orders now, but I'll give the standing orders for the commencement of each plan now to save time.”

Turning towards the burglar and safe-cracker in the crowd, Yang continued her speech.

“Octavia and Gwen, you two will call in late to work tomorrow, and you will get picked up at four in the morning by Ruby and Cinder. Be sure to bring the equipment you guys usually use for breaking into secured offices, and know that Cinder will help out by bugging the meeting place as well. The remaining orders are located within your files.”

Turning to the group at large, Yang concluded her speech.

“As for the rest of you, the repossession job starts when our spies hand over the copies, and the torching job starts the minute the repossession job is complete. Are we all clear on that?”

A chorus of affirmations instantly filled Yang's ears.

“Good to hear it, folks. And remember the standard procedure; be punctual, be prepared, and maintain radio silence on the jobs. Happy hunting.”

The next morning, Octavia awoke at three in a bungalow halfway along Alsius Crescent's western side, which she shared with Nebula and Gwen. A curved shortcut from Vacuo Road to Atlas Terrace, it was a middle-class, leafier slice of the Vale – in other words, the last place anyone would have expected a trio of thieves to call home. The Scotswoman showered as quietly as she could manage, given it was a single-storey household that lay above her room, and was finished within five minutes. Wrapping her hair in a towel turban and donning her bathrobe, Octavia quietly crept back into her basement boudoir.

Since she was a notoriously light sleeper, the redhead was entrusted by the rest of Pyrrha's gang to look after the equipment the team used on their various jobs, and it was stashed in two deadbolted cupboards around the basement. Octavia opened the one to the right of the landing, which contained her and Gwen's equipment. Quickly retrieving her duffel bag, Octavia first loaded in Gwen's stethoscope and battery-powered drill. Next to be placed inside were Octavia's crowbars, allen keys, lockpicks, and her mallet and screwdrivers.

Last but not least, she grabbed a box of disposable gloves and some hairnets, making sure to leave no trace for any cop or paranoid employer to find, let alone trace back to the gang. Hauling the duffel bag over her right shoulder, the girl known as “the Ginger Ninja” ascended the stairs, turned on the electric kettle and placed the bag at the front door. Not two minutes later, a dishevelled Gwen walked out fixing her hair, and was handed a fresh cup of coffee from her housemate.

* * *

No sooner had the pair drained their drinks than the lounge's window was flooded with the headlights of Jaune's Calais.

“Well, that's our cue,” Octavia whispered.

“We'd better get moving,” Gwen replied with equal quietude.

Retrieving the duffel bag, Octavia marched out while Gwen locked the door behind her, closing it silently. The pair of gangsters piled in the back, greeting Ruby while Cinder reversed out as quietly as she could manage.

“Ruby,” Gwen began hesitantly, “it's a school day. Isn't that going to hamper your ability to monitor the meeting?”

Ruby shook her head. “It won't be an issue. Watts will either host his meeting before his office opens at eight-thirty, or he'll do it after the car's been taken – which is around four-thirty according to Pyrrha's schedule. Either way, I'll be there to monitor it.”

The thieves nodded to the sniper, while the spy decided to go over the plans as she turned to Atlas Terrace.

“So we're all clear,” Cinder began, “I shadowed our mark all day yesterday. He's not due into his office until seven o'clock sharp. That safely gives us two and a half hours to break in, make copies of the files within the safe, bug his office, remove all evidence of our entrance, then wait until the meeting takes place.”

Cinder paused, as she turned right onto Mistral Boulevard, then spoke again with a sly smirk as the car slowly rolled down the classy thoroughfare.

“We'll record the meeting in its entirety, then I'll retrieve the microphone once we're done. Given that the mark's auditing the Arc and Partners accounts for me later today, along with the lack of CCTV within his office, it shouldn't be a problem.”

“Speaking of microphones, Cinder,” Octavia began, “how come you know so much about recording technology and so on?”

“Well,” Cinder responded, “my father fought for Australia in Korea, and worked in the signal corps. He's always had passion for recording technology and an encyclopaedic knowledge of radio, and he made damned sure to pass it on to me as I grew up.”

“Ah, I see,” the burglar replied.

An awkward silence followed, mainly due to the Caucasian members of the group wondering how Cinder was half-Korean if her father fought against Korea. However, Cinder's ability to read people rivaled that of Blake, and she deflated the silence quickly.

“If you're wondering about my parentage, my father helped rescue my mother from a fire at the orphanage she worked in, and they fell in love rather quickly.”

“Ah, right,” the other three murmured as they pulled up at the corner of Haven Lane.

* * *

After donning the gloves and hairnets, the four women promptly leapt into action.

Cinder parked the car on the opposite side of the street, then walked out confidently with her wireless microphone in one hand, and the receiver and tape recorder in the other. Ruby scanned the back area for an ideal hiding place, while Gwen and Octavia hauled out the tools for the job. Quickly noting that the back door harboured a flimsy lock with no alarm, Ruby motioned for the burglars to move on her position and gain entry into the office.

Fortune favoured the bold in this instance, considering that Dr. Watts had postponed upgrades to his security until the following weekend. The lock gave way all too easily, and the four women entered the offices. The bent accountant's premises were rather small, containing only a lobby on the southern side, the office on the northern side, a narrow passageway in the middle of the building, and the kitchen that the four women found themselves in. Whatever lack of size the rooms had was compensated well and truly by the aura of understated wealth about the place.

It wasn't extravagant, but every item of furniture and paraphernalia was well-crafted and immaculate. All four women sneered at this strange sense of opulent simplicity, and felt ever more determined to succeed in their mission. Ruby moved to the lobby to keep lookout while the other three set about their tasks. Gwen and Octavia combed the inner and outer walls of the accountant's office while Cinder duct-taped the wireless microphone to the underside of Watts' chair, close to the floor and out of view from any prying eyes.

The second she placed fresh batteries in the pack, Gwen struck gold.

“Such a cliché move,” the Welsh safe-cracker snidely remarked. “Safe behind a bloody painting.”

She moved the painting aside, and Octavia realised that clichés didn't apply to Dr. Arthur Watts.

“Wait a moment, Gwen,” she called out, “the papers are located between the painting and it's frame. There's a bump in the back of it.”

Gwen looked at it for a moment, then expertly lifted the frame off the painting. True to Octavia's instinctive prediction, the papers they were sent to copy spilled out onto the floor.

“Bingo!”, the housemates chorused, and Gwen promptly fired up the photocopier with the papers in hand.

Cinder, meanwhile, helped Octavia pack up the tools they'd brought along, while Ruby maintained her vigil.

* * *

After five silent minutes, Cinder and Octavia carefully replaced the originals within the painting as Ruby walked in. She and Cinder then placed the framed picture back on its perch while Octavia and Gwen took the tools and plans to the Calais outside.

“By the way, Ruby,” Cinder asked, “did you find a solid place to hide out for the meeting?”

“Yes and no; the car's parked in the least suspicious spot for surveillance, but there's no obvious cover in that area or any other area.”

Cinder frowned.

“Well, that'll be annoying if he doesn't hold his meeting this morning. What we'll need to do is hang around in the car once Watts gets here, hit record and hope he brought company. If not, then I'll be sure to replace the batteries within the wireless microphone when I come here for the firm's auditing later today. Probably by tricking Watts into getting me a glass of water, then do it while he's out of the office.”

Ruby nodded languidly. “I suppose that's a plan. Let's hope we don't have to risk breaking in after today is done. Anyway,” she added, “I'll get you to drop the burglars off home, while I'll lock the place up and wait. Bring a thermos or two of black coffee if you can.”

Cinder nodded crisply, and she skulked out of the office. Ruby replaced any article of furniture that had been disturbed, turned off the lights throughout the office, and closed the back door. She'd wisely refused to lock it, making sure that Cinder's technology could be tested before the time Watts made it in. Thirty-five minutes later, Cinder returned with the coffees, and quickly agreed to Ruby's test of the microphones. As Ruby walked inside with thermos in hand, Cinder jumped into the Calais. She started by hooking up a pair of jumper cables between the wireless receiver, and a car battery that Yang had loaned her. Next, the spy connected the receiver's output to her tape machine and hit record. After two minutes, a single sentence came through.

“The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.”

Cinder turned off the receiver and stopped the tape machine. Ruby walked out with hairnet and gloves still on, and instantly noticed Cinder nodding in her general direction. Nodding quickly in reply, Ruby skulked back to the back door, locking it and closing it behind her. Quickly walking over to the Calais, Ruby removed her hairnet and gloves, throwing them into the same shopping bag that Gwen and Octavia had used earlier.

“So now we wait?”, Ruby enquired.

“Correct,” Cinder replied, handing Ruby half a dozen sugar sachets.

Ruby cocked her eyebrow, then smirked at her colleague.

“Thanks. You know me too well.”

Cinder chuckled softly.

“Not sure you've really needed it, considering your sweetness towards the kids you teach.”

The pair openly laughed as they kicked back and relaxed.

* * *

Two hours later, at the stroke of seven, a purple 1977 Aston Martin V8 drove into the carpark at the back. Ruby and Cinder both looked towards it, and beheld their marks. Dr. Watts opened the passenger door, which allowed Emerald to emerge with a green tracksuit on. She then made the seat lean forward, allowing for Tyrian to crawl out onto the pavement. He brought himself to his full height, righted the seat and closed the door. Ruby took a Polaroid of the three as they approached the front door, while Cinder realised what was what.

“If I'm not mistaken, the woman will break and enter the Vytal, while the meth addict will be the fire-starter.”

Ruby grimaced as Cinder turned the receiver on and started recording.

“Putting a crazy junkie on roasting duty is _never_ a good idea. What _are_ these wackos _thinking?_ ”

Cinder donned her headphones and started to concentrate.

“I don't know, so let me find out for sure.”

“The plan is actually rather easy, Emerald,” Watts began as the trio entered his office. “I'll pick the both of you up at Roman's place in Haven Lane at eleven p.m. on the 29th. From there, we'll drive to the Vytal. Emerald, you'll get inside and open the doors, then help me turn the place over, CCTV tapes included. Tyrian, you'll need to make a trail of gasoline between our point of entry and the kitchens, then turn on all the gas cookers within the place. Once Emerald and I are done with the takings, we'll walk outside and you'll need to drop a lit match at the starting point. The minute the oil catches fire, we'll need to pile in my new XJS and high-tail it out before the restaurant explodes, then return to Roman's with tales of success. Any questions?”

After five seconds of incoherent rambling from Tyrian, Cinder stopped recording the conversation, placed her equipment down in the back, and drove onto Mistral Avenue.

“Did we get everything?”, Ruby asked quickly.

“We did,” Cinder responded with a clipped tone.

“First thing's first, I'll drop you off home and have you return the battery to Yang. I'll leave the tapes at home and go to work, collecting the mic later. Blake will have the plans tonight at the earliest, if not tomorrow. As for Pyrrha, I sure hope she knows what to do with tricking Watts into paying in instalments.”

Ruby's resultant expression _radiated_ of smugness.

“Oh ye of little faith,” she sniggered deviously. “Have confidence in my silver-tongued temptress.”

* * *

At the stroke of four that afternoon, Arthur Watts finished the first half of the Arc and Partners audit and left his office for the day. Waiting outside for him was a taxi, raring to take him to Real Steals on Wheels. To put it mildly, Watts _hated_ public transport, having always been a car enthusiast since the days he lived in Oxfordshire.

These days, he loved to venture west of Penrith and go driving in the Blue Mountains, and felt his Aston was too old to serve as his travelling car. Like any self-respecting Englishman, the accountant imported an English car for his needs. He was sorely looking forward to gaining his 1988 black Jaguar XJS full convertible, with the various after-market pieces he was tacking onto it under the table.

Of course, this meant that he'd needed to go to the only place that was willing to do the work underneath regulations. Real Steals On Wheels usually refurbished and sold cars that had seen some miles, but they carried a handful of imports, and their customisation shop had seen business from a number of his old colleagues in the ABS. Their glowing reviews were enough to convince him to seek out their business.

Much to his surprise, the fine young lady that he'd spoke to was perfectly willing to not only import a Jaguar, but also paint it, install a sound system too powerful for regulations, and juice up the engine like it was a getaway vehicle. And when a number of oil leaks needed plugging after the test drive, the staff had fallen over themselves to fix the issues. However, what Watts didn't know was that all eight staff members were in the employ of the Bellas.

The sudden oil leaks _were_ their doing, if only for the purpose of increasing their business with a rich client. They'd felt justified in doing so, considering they all saw him as a pompous Brit who felt buying local-made cars was beneath his station. The Yang-induced notion that the man was a crook seemed obvious to them as well. The easy smile, the aristocratic demeanour, the glint in his jade eyes … he seemed too good to be true. And after the events of the last five weeks, they realised their prediction was true to the nth degree.

Still, they presented a civil front when he walked in fifteen minutes after he left his office.

“Greetings, Dr. Watts,” Pyrrha began warmly.

“Your Jaguar is all ready to go, and the only thing left to do is sign the paperwork.”

Dr. Watts returned the smile as Pyrrha led him into her office.

“That's good to hear, Ms. Nikos.”

Pyrrha then went for the kill.

“By the way, I forgot to ask you something last time we spoke. Did you wish to pay us in instalments or with a lump sum?”

Watts looked thoughtful for a moment before deciding.

“Instalments would be better suited to my budget, if that's alright?”

“Of _course_ it's alright, sir,” Pyrrha responded happily.

Internally, however, a sour disposition scored itself in the back of her mind. _A total miser_ , she realised. _An unrepentant, arrogant miser. I don't feel sorry in the slightest for screwing this bastard out of his precious imported car_.

“I'll just retrieve the paperwork, shall I?”

Reaching beneath the right side of her desk, Pyrrha fished out a blank details form which had been stapled to a few pages of fine print and rental conditions, and filled in her section first, then handed the document over to Watts.

“Just fill in your contact details in the spots provided, then sign at the bottom of the page to seal the deal.”

* * *

As Watts set to work, the thief was doing her best to quell internal panic over what would happen if the accountant was smart enough to check the fine print, which only got handed to the criminals who'd sourced her out for their getaway cars. The contract itself read that once payments started, they didn't stop for any reason, except for death and/or serious injury. Not even an arrest could avert reposession. Also, the contract stated that Watts could pay whatever he wanted per week. However, he misread this as being “ _whenever_ he wanted.”

And that's before the fine print was so much as _considered_ … so, suffice to say that it was a risky gambit, and Pyrrha was quite worried about her chances of success. However, what happened next revealed just how well fortune favoured the bold. The Englishman had had an excruciating week, and therefore signed the contract without checking the rest of it. Pyrrha deftly stifled a yelp of relief as she retrieved the document and walked towards the door; internally, however, she was in equal jubilation and disbelief at her luck. _He bought it! He actually bought it! What an unobservant dill!_

“Excellent! I'll have Miss Gayl lead you to your car and the keys.”

“Very well,” Watts said with a slightly malicious smile as he waited in the office.

Walking into the show room, Pyrrha walked up towards her best saleswoman.

“Dew,” she said while giving her a tilt of the eyebrows, “could you please lead the good doctor to his XJS, and make it worth his while?”

Dew got the cue instantly; _make it worth his while_ was their long-established code for “time to bonk your mark”.

“No worries, boss,” Dew said teasingly, before undoing the top button of her white blouse and leaning in through the doorway.

“Dr. Watts? If you'd like to come with me, please.”

“With pleasure,” the Englishman replied, already sounding entranced by the Irish woman, and got up and walked towards the mechanic's section with her.

About five minutes later, Dr. Watts drove his new Jaguar with the roof down, giving Pyrrha and Yang a lovely view of Dew kissing the middle-aged gentleman. When the latter walked over to the former, each woman realised that the other had a smirk that _radiated_ merriment.

If Dew and Dr. Watts were ever asked about what happened between them that night, the answers were purposefully vague. However, as Emerald saw Watts arrive from her desk at the lobby, she noticed a slight difference in his approach. Namely, that he was using a cane and limping heavily. When questioned, the accountant only had one response.

“I fell out of bed by accident.”

Likewise, Dew only said one thing, and that was to Pyrrha when she reported in with the key and payment that same morning.

“Mission accomplished, along with the biggest bonk I've had in years.”

Pyrrha smirked in response.

“Good. Roy's already gone and created the evidence of Watts missing his first payment. I'll be sure to deliver it when I come to pinch his car.”

“What of the money he gave us?”

Pyrrha smiled sweetly at her hired seductress.

“Well, I'll treat the four of you to some rounds at the Aurora tonight. That's fair reward for what you've all done this week.”

* * *

The lead-up to the 29th  was a period of frenzied activity for the mechanics. Roy and Brawnz were on double-duty, respectively manning the painting booth and handling transactions along with their normal duties. Pyrrha, of course, was to conduct the third and smallest part concerning the Jaguar, but that was no concern to anyone. After all, the Greek girl had jacked more cars than anyone else south of the Parramatta River during the eighties. Busting a Pom's balls would be child's play to one such as her.

So Pyrrha kept the business sailing that week, while Yang took a week off to plan the fourth and final part of what Blake had termed “the Sautée Sortie”. The first order of business for the bomb-making bombshell was to get Cinder to discuss the layout of the restaurant, followed by helping Nolan and May make an explosion big enough to engulf the premises, yet small enough to avoid damaging unmarked property.

The minute Roy and Dew finished their tasks on the 25th, Yang arranged to meet Cinder for lunch in a friendly space that same day. At twelve-thirty, Yang sat at the closest table to the somewhat noisy serving area at the Weiss Creamery and Coffee Parlour, sipping on a strawberry sunrise. This was a moniker for Weiss's lemon squash spider with strawberries on top, considered the only item on the secret menu – and the only one Yang ever bothered ordering from the place.

That's not to say Weiss's other spiders were bad. Quite to the contrary, as it turned out. They were probably the biggest draw-cards for her business, and she served plenty of variations. So when Cinder rocked up four minutes after half-past, she found herself quite spoilt for choice, which was likely due to the small fact that she'd never _been_ here before. Fortunately, Weiss was on hand to help when her colleague came to the head of the queue.

“What would you recommend for me, Weiss?”

“Well,” the German responded, “for you, I'd recommend the Boston Cooler – it's essentially ginger ale and vanilla ice cream.”

Cinder relaxed visibly, and smiled as warmly as she could manage.

“That sounds great; I do like ginger ale something fierce. How much is it?”

“That'll be $2.30, please.” Cinder nodded, handing the coins over to Weiss, who promptly opened the till and placed the stuff inside.

“Sitting at table 1, right?”

Cinder craned her neck until she saw Yang slurping her drink like an animal at said table.

“Unfortunately,” she drily responded, much to Weiss's amusement.

* * *

Seating herself opposite a woman in the middle of an intense brain freeze, Cinder decided to get snarky.

“Did Hell freeze over or something?”

Yang looked up with a confused expression.

“What do you mean?”

Cinder then poked her temple, and Yang instantly got the hint.

“Yeah yeah, _very_ funny. Did you get the stuff I asked for?”

Cinder retrieved her briefcase, and handed Yang a copy of the fire escape plans she'd constructed from her memory of the Valentine's Day mission. Yang gave it a good looking over, and liked what she saw. There were four main areas, the largest of which was the dining room, naturally. The 3000 square metres of room within it included the reception area, along with the bar.

The private dining room and bar along the northern wall were quite small, only 30 square metres combined, but the kitchens on the eastern side were quite large at 2400 square metres – and the service entrance was located within them. The last area to be considered was the manager's office, which lay on the north-western corner, directly to the left of the reception and entrance on the western edge. It was important that this room got ransacked totally before it went up in flames. Finally, Yang responded.

“Good one, Cindy. Nolan and May will have an easier time planning for the 30th with this. Just one thing I'd like to ask though.”

“Go ahead.”

“I'd like someone to monitor the place on the day. Would you like to do it?”

Cinder nodded curtly.

“Sure. Just don't call me Cindy again. That's reserved for my partner.”

Yang smirked lazily; she decided to needle Cinder a bit over the insult earlier.

“Of course. Feel free to bring him as a second pair of eyes for the mission; our beloved consigliere would love a first date!”

Cinder's expression of silent fury did not abate until she'd drunk a third of her spider.

* * *

Finally, at seven o'clock on the twenty-ninth of March, Nebula and Pyrrha set off to their tasks while Yang and the four crewmen needed for the sacking of Amity waited within the dealership. Blake, not being one to throw caution to the winds, had decided to get Ren and his crew to join the wait staff within the Vytal restaurant that night. Each of them were also cleaning the place up that night, giving the Italian a much-needed fail-safe if things went south.

In a stroke of genius, Nebula had landed a job trial as a waitress at the Amity, and decided to use it to scope out the restaurant properly, noting anything valuable within the place and random facts about the layout. Jaune and Cinder, meanwhile, entered the lion's den at half-past six while acting as a second and third pair of eyes for Blake. The fact that this piece of reconnaissance doubled as their first ever date was sheer coincidental convenience.

Jaune still wore his black suitpants and jacket, but changed his shirt before he left his Calais and retained his azure tie. Cinder, having the same idea, changed from her skirt suit into an off-the-shoulder dress which had the colour of dried blood, and retained her charcoal stilettos and stockings.

As the old receptionist checked them off the reservations list, Nebula quickly ushered them to a booth in the south-eastern corner of the room – one of several, in fact, that lined the southern wall. Drawing the curtain shut, the three went over their plan and supplied their orders.

“So I don't forget,” Nebula started, “what drinks do you wish to have?”

“A 1986 Tyrell Chardonnay for me,” Jaune began, “and the same for you, Cinder?”

“That'll do nicely,” his secretary replied, “it's a pretty decent white to kick off proceedings.”

“Agreed,” Nebula affirmed, writing the answers down on the notepad.

Then she leant into the table and hushed her voice.

“Now as for scoping the place, I've got the master key already, and I'll be on my feet all night and moving frequently. Hopefully, I'll be able to write tidbits in my notepad, and slip them underneath one of your plates without being noticed. How many courses are you having tonight?”

Jaune and Cinder gave each other quizzical looks, before Jaune broke the silence.

“Can you handle three, Cindy?”

Cinder blushed ever so slightly, then regained composure and replied.

“Should be able to, provided I keep the entree light.”

“Alright then,” Nebula said gladly, before handing them their menus. “What entrees would you like to eat?”

* * *

As Jaune and Cinder ordered their entrees, Pyrrha was walking down Shade Grove, a leafy street which arced from the southern end of Sanus Street, through the midpoint of Windpath Drive and Signal Circle's southeastern edge, then ended halfway between Watts' office and Roman's compound on Haven Lane. Watts lived two doors away from the intersection of Shade and Mistral, on the north-eastern side of the junction. Having walked directly from work, Pyrrha made it to the crossing when she saw her chance.

Dr. Watts was taking his pet labrador out for a walk, going northwards up the Boulevard. _Excellent,_ Pyrrha thought. _The fool believes he's safe!_ As the crossing lights turned green, Pyrrha strode firmly over the northern side of the intersection, making good time as she crept up on Watts's vehicle. Fishing out the spare key, she looked out for witnesses before slipping the “missing payment” notice into the letterbox, then entering the car's driver seat.

Much to her surprise, the car contained a small package of civilian-grade C4, complete with blasting caps and wires, along with a jerry can of petrol and a bunch of firestarters and cherry bombs. _**Thank Christ** _ _Blake had the foresight to send Ruby to spy on a funeral,_ Pyrrha shakily rationalised as she drove to the dealership _. This stuff would've blown a massive hole in our income and driven Blake insane_. _Hopefully_ , she thought with a massive smirk on her face, _this could help Yang and our people later tonight_.

At eight-thirty, Cinder and Jaune left the restaurant with a mixed feeling within their stomachs. On the not-so-good side, Nebula's observations were, to be put frankly, inconsequential. And whatever stuff the pair of them had managed to glean that night wasn't much help either. But, on the plus side, Nebula _did_ secure the master key, and something else happened.

She and Jaune both slowly realised, with the aid of three glasses each of chardonnay, that they couldn't deny their feelings for one another anymore. It proved cathartic, and fortunately for the Amity's other patrons, Jaune lived in a flat in Shade Grove's western entrance – well away from the restaurant. They were at it like rabbits within minutes of arriving.

As the copulation started on Shade Grove's western end, Watts was kicking himself at the eastern end, after his hubris and arrogance bit him hard in the backside. Not only did the payment not go through, but he'd bloody gone and sold his beloved Aston Martin. A perfunctory phone call to Roman's compound had quickly established that his boss was in King's Cross with Mercury, partying it up after winning a grand on the horses earlier that day. Therefore, he reluctantly called off the torching of the Vytal.

Little did the Englishman know just how badly he'd gotten screwed this time.

* * *

When the Amity shut down totally at eleven, Nebula had stayed behind and hidden within the toilets, keeping an ear out for when the rest of the staff were set to leave. As the last of the staff left fifteen minutes later, she waited until he'd driven off before moving. The thief's first port of call was the office on the west wall, and she promptly made short work of the flimsy alarm the building was equipped with.

She then removed the CCTV tape for that day and stashed it within a garbage bag she'd taken from the kitchen. Exiting the office, Nebula then emptied the tills into the same garbage bag and left the lot within the office, as something for Gwen to stash whatever valuables she cared to take from within the room, especially the safe. Nebula then took cover behind the reception stand, waiting for her crew.

Finally, at the stroke of midnight, the lights of Gwen's Ducati and Yang's Astra shot through the front doors, before they turned off and the cars piled behind the restaurant's eastern wall at the service station. Gwen jumped off her motorcycle and Yang ushered Brawnz, May and Octavia out of her car. May and Yang then opened the boot and emptied their equipment into the waiting arms of Octavia and Brawnz.

The C4 and firestarters made for an excellent addition to the fertiliser bombs that Nolan had built for the occasion, and the jerry can Watts had filled was a good addition to the can Yang had prepared. Not to be outdone, Gwen had her stethoscope slung around her neck and a power drill within the luggage compartment of her bike. Nebula had made it to the service door by this point, and let them in quietly.

After the door was shut, Nebula gave the orders, with Yang's permission.

“Gwen, there's a bag in the office that I've emptied the tills into. There's a safe there, so do what you will with it. Octavia, stay at the front door on look-out. I'll do the same at the back. May, you set up an ignition trail with the jerry cans from the service entrance to the front, and make sure every part of the building gets a dose of it. Brawnz and Yang, you set up the explosives around that, and turn on the gas within the kitchen as the rest of us wait outside. Got it?”

“Got it.”

And, over the next half an hour, it unfolded as planned. Gwen didn't even need the power drill, as the safe itself was an old-style combination type. Six minutes later, and Gwen was the first to haul out the now middle-sized bag of cash, having taken the float from the vault. The trio of mechanics worked methodically and slowly, May being careful with the two jerry cans as Brawnz laid down the fire-starters under the tables and Yang rigged up the C4 within the private dining room. Eventually, Yang wrapped it up.

“Alright, guys and gals, we're done here. Get outside while Brawnz and I let the gas run for ten minutes.”

Everyone got out with the proceeds while this happened, Gwen promptly taking Nebula home on the Ducati after they left.

When the ten minutes had passed, Yang stood above a pool of oil a meter from her car and half a metre from the service entrance. If anyone stumbled upon her now, the first and last thing they would see was the steely glint in her eyes. They were an odd shade, appearing to be lilac under most conditions, earning their owner the nickname of “Miss Taylor” during school. The fact Yang preferred to use purple eyeshadow merely enhanced this.

Sighing gently, Yang pulled a herbal cigarette out of her pocket and lit it up. Quickly burning through a third of the cigarette, Yang dropped the remainder onto the pool of oil. The oil quickly set aflame, making Yang jump into the full car and floor it. When Yang and her employees made it to the turnoff at Windpath Drive, the building exploded into flame. In fifteen minutes of fury, the blaze had rendered the restaurant inoperable for the next year, and only a timely intervention from the fire brigade managed to save it from being slated for demolishing.

When Roman Torchwick arrived on the scene the next morning, he was _utterly livid_ at yesterday's turn of events. Not only did Emerald and Tyrian get prevented from setting fire to the Vytal because Watts missed a repayment on his sodding car, he'd lost the Amity on the same night.

When Dr. Watts showed up on the first bus that came up Mistral Boulevard, he noted that Roman looked for all the world like a spoilt child whose lunch had just been nicked. When Roman's voice came to Watts, it was a guttural hiss.

“We will find them, my dear Watts, and we will kill them.”

* * *

**A/N: After two all-nighters and an obligatory viewing of the Achievement Hunter heists, I hope my sleep-deprived self made something good here.**


	9. Roman Invasion

### Chapter Nine: Roman Invasion

Watts only had time to nod his head in sharp agreement before Roman lead him into his white 1988 Bentley Mulsanne L to go over the current shitstorm.

“So,” the developer began, “we've lost my primary source of income and given the mafia the run of fine dining in this blasted place – all because _you_ got screwed out of your precious car and weren't smart enough to keep your old one as a back up.”

Watts scowled petulantly and snarled his retort.

“No need to remind me of what's already done; what else is there to discuss?”

“Well,” Roman replied, “to make matters worse, we can't call the cops on the mafia without getting exposed. Someone among them will know of our deal with Hazel and Peter, so we'll need to lay low in the meantime.”

“Perhaps I can help you there,” the Englishman replied. “They have no reason to suspect me of any wrongdoing, since I wasn't the one giving the cash to the policemen. Even _if_ there was photographic evidence of my presence when the officers were bribed, I can tell them I thought it was a gambling bet being paid out or some such.

“Therefore, I'll give the force as much help with the Amity as I can, thereby giving you enough time to hole up and maybe throw a few false leads to occupy them until it blows over.”

Roman nodded slowly and understandingly.

“Very well. I'll make sure that we're all lying low. Stay safe, Watts.”

Watts nodded sharply, then exited the car to make a statement about the restaurant.

Roman, meanwhile, drove his Bentley back to the compound on Haven Lane, and decided to hole up within it for the next few weeks. When Emerald ushered him into the front room, he gained a massive epiphany.

“Emerald, I've just realised something. You know how someone spotted me bribing Hazel and Peter?”

Emerald nodded tersely.

“Must've been that bloody jogger ...” she grumbled lowly.

“Well,” Roman continued happily, “whomever it was that spotted me bribing the two officers would never have seen you or Tyrian that day. Given that we have the leader's address from Neo, I'd like you to get Tyrian to drive there on the 4th and whack her. You, meanwhile, will hide nearby until after the deed is done, at which point you will burgle the place and find out where the rest of the mafia live and work at. Once we have those, our spree can begin in earnest.”

Emerald smiled slightly at this.

“Now you sound like the Roman I know. There is one thing I'd like to ask about our plans though.”

“What is it?”, the ginger crook replied.

“How on earth are we getting Mayor Lionheart onside with our application processes? Especially with bribing police officers and all that in the way?”

Roman smirked, then retrieved a Polaroid of Lionheart kissing another man – which would've been fine, had it not been for the fact that the man's sister was married to Lionheart.

“With the faintest application of blackmail, my young Padawan.”

Emerald sighed and rolled her eyes at the Sir Alec Guinness impression.

“Okay, _now_ you sound like the Roman I know,” she groused while he began to laugh.

* * *

When Operation Rosewood had all checked in to their office later that morning, they were promptly bombarded with a laundry list of issues that pertained to the corruption scandal and the Amity, courtesy of the chief inspector waiting for them within their main offices.

“Greetings, all of you,” Glynda intoned. “I've got a few things to say this morning, so bear with me. First of all, Inspector Port and Sergeant Rainart have agreed to resign from the police force and to undergo three years of probation.”

“That's a result, I guess,” Sun agreed.

“What about the man who was bribing them?”, Velvet enquired.

“Well, according to our records,” Glynda responded, “he isn't somebody who's shown up on our radar for any crimes. As far as we know, he's a legitimate property developer called Roman Torchwick.”

“So the next question is,” Sun responded warily, “why would an apparently clean developer be seen bribing our officers?”

Silence followed, as the group of officers mulled over the implications. Finally, Coco piped up with an idea.

“He's a developer, right? There's a chance that the local council might know him. We could ask Mayor Lionheart or the folks in the state planning department as to his activities.”

“That _does_ make sense, Coco,” Sun agreed. “After all, Torchwick might be planning to do something really shady within the Vale, and paid those guys off to keep it quiet. I mean, it's not like they admitted to anything when questioned.”

“You can discuss that later,” Glynda interjected; “there's a few more things I need to go over. For starters, I've been ordered to hand out promotions in the wake of Port and Rainart's resignations. Since Port was a DI, I hereby declare you, DS Wukong, acting DI until you've taken the proper exams.”

The officers cheered, with cries of “Way to go, Sunny!” and “Nice one, guv!” prominent among the chorus.

“Thanks chief!”, Sun replied gratefully. “Who's going to fill my vacancy as sergeant?”

Glynda mulled it over for half a second until she decided.

“To cover for you as sergeant, I'll appoint DC Scarlatina as acting DS. After all, she blew the whistle on Rainart and Port, so she definitely deserves it.”

* * *

Velvet's jaw hit the floor at this while the squad congratulated her; she was the first woman since Goodwitch to make sergeant _within_ Atlas Terrace; the other female sergeants and inspectors the station had seen during the interim were all transferred in from other stations.

“T-thank you _so much_ , Inspector Goodwitch! I'll be sure to earn my rank.”

Goodwitch smiled slightly.

“I'm sure you will, Velvet. And lastly, I've got your next big case right here.”

She reached into her briefcase and handed Sun the folder of files on the torching of the Amity.

“This happened last night on the eastern side of Mistral Boulevard. The Amity restaurant, which was a five-star French cuisine restaurant, got burgled and blown up by unknown assailants. The only reason why you guys are handling it instead of the arson squad is that Roman Torchwick is one of the major shareholders of the restaurant.

“A second shareholder, an accountant called Dr. Arthur Watts, gave us a pretty comprehensive idea of what was lost in the fire, as well as the reservation books and crew payroll when he spoke with forensics this morning. His statement, items and the forensic reports are all there. Good luck, officers.”

“Thanks, chief,” Sun replied casually as Goodwitch departed for her office. Placing the folder down on the coffee table, Sun retrieved the reservation book and crew manifest and approached his staff, handing Coco the former and keeping the latter.

“Right. Coco and Neptune, Sage and Scarlet. The four of you will pair up as indicated and go speak to each of the guests on the last night of business. Try and find out if any of them saw anything or anyone suspicious that night within or outside of the restaurant.

“Fox, I'll have you and Yatsuhashi go through the forensic evidence together and construct an idea of what happened and how many people were likely involved in the blast. As for me, I will talk to the staff working at the restaurant that night, and Velvet will join me in the process. Any questions?”

Seeing only a group of shaking heads, Sun beamed.

“Excellent. Let's get to work, folks!”

Yatushashi led Fox towards the table to start their evidence sifting, while Velvet and Sun retreated to their private office and the remaining quartet started ringing the clientele. Seated at their desks, the newly-minted inspector pulled a pair of whiskey glasses out from a drawer along with a bottle of black-label Johnnie Walker and soda water.

“Velvet, our promotion calls for a small celebration. Care to toast to our careers before we start making calls?”

Velvet uncertainly approached her superior and took the offered glass nervously.

“What's Johnnie Walker like?”, she asked quizzically.

Sun gave her a bemused look that screamed volumes about how down to earth most liquor enthusiasts truly were – as well as gave normal people more licence to call them “snobs”.

“You've _never_ had Johnnie Walker before? Velvet, you're about to be educated on what makes an excellent whiskey.”

* * *

At the same time, Blake was relaxing with Nora over a bottle of Jacob's Creek Chardonnay that had just been plucked from the grapevines. The warm autumn morning gave a calm backdrop that belied the hell the pair had endured going through the application plans Cinder and Ruby had sent through.

High-rise apartments with sub-standard fire escapes, corners cut with the plumbing and building materials, exorbitant rent and purchase prices on the flats … the villainy of this developer truly knew no bounds. And that was before the soul-shattering gentrification he had in mind for the western districts and shopping strips were so much as _considered_.

Therefore, Blake and Nora found solace in two things that were always bound to distract them from the real issues at hand; wine and rugby talk.

“So even though Baker missed half the conversions,” Blake concluded, “we still thrashed the Bears 20 to none!”

“Sweet,” Nora sarcastically replied. She'd been barely able to get a word in before Blake started to wax poetic about her beloved Panthers, and wasn't looking forward to recounting how Cronulla had fared this round.

“How did your lot go?”, Blake asked innocently.

Nora groaned audibly.

“It was a 20-point margin as well, except my team's defence was like a bunch of mermaids in a chorus line.”

Blake looked rather non-plussed at this unusual metaphor.

“How do you mean?”

Nora threw her hands skywards in exasperation.

“They were bloody useless, _Godverdomme!_ ”

Blake began to roar in tipsy laughter as Nora started to cuss out her team's abysmal performance in Dutch, in a tirade best left untranslated.

Later that day, a somewhat more sober Blake was interviewing people for the position of head waiter at the Vytal, during the break between the lunch close at 3 and the start of dinner at 6. As it turned out, the previous occupant of the post had gotten married to a merchant banker two weeks beforehand, and her staff were clamouring for someone who knew how to work a dining floor.

With the torching of the Amity, Blake's post office box had been inundated with resumes. However, Blake only had one person in mind for the role; Cinder's brother, Ashley. _The unusually high number of applicants will be a good enough excuse for me to turn so many people down_ , she rationalised, _and I can always put the other applicants into contact with other restaurateurs that I know outside the Vale. Either way, it's a win-win_.

* * *

At the stroke of three-thirty, Ashley Fall was ushered into her private office. An inch taller than Cinder, the muscular man of thirty-one nodded respectfully as he shook Blake's hand. _Christ Almighty, he's_ _**smoking** _ _hot_ , Blake observed as her mouth greeted him politely. _**No bloody wonder** _ _Jaune started bonking his sister_.

Fortunately for their respective careers, Blake was a consummate professional and Ashley was gay, and the latter quickly scored the job. As a satisfied Blake walked outside her restaurant's main entrance with Cooper's Pale in hand, she turned around after closing the door and bumped into Lisa Lavender and her small crew, who'd just arrived for a scoop.

“You're Blake Belladonna, the owner of the Vytal, right?”, Lisa quickly began.

After half a second of surprised silence, Blake recovered her bearings and answered her calmly.

“Yes, I am. How come you're here, Ms. Lavender?”

“Well,” the veteran reporter began, “I've been sent to gauge the public's reactions to what people are calling 'the Amity barbecue', and felt that a restaurateur's opinion would make for good coverage.”

Blake nodded sagely; she understood the government-funded channel's need for ratings against the corporate machine, and decided there and then to help them on their merry way.

“Sounds fair. What would you like me to say?”

“Well,” the reporter started while motioning to her cameraman, “just describe your reaction at the news, starting … now.”

“It wasn't great to hear at all,” a visibly worried Blake Belladonna said two hours later on air. “Restaurants _hardly_ , if _ever_ , get burgled around these parts, let alone get sent up in flames. This is concerning for all of us who own businesses on Vacuo Road, and no doubt even more so for the folks working at Mistral Boulevard.”

The screen then cut to Lisa Lavender standing in front of the wreckage, while Blake was complemented on her acting by her four lesbian neighbours in her own lounge room.

“As you can see, other business owners are worried about whether the assailants will strike again. Atlas Station released a press statement earlier which indicated that no-one suspicious was seen by the restaurant-goers or the staff that night. We've also tried contacting the restaurant stakeholders for comment, and this was said by one Dr. Arthur Watts on the phone two hours before the time of filming.”

The screen then showed a still of the bent accountant as he began to say his piece.

“I honestly hope to whatever higher power's out there that these fiendish bastards get caught and raked over the coals by the proper authorities. As regards the restaurant itself, our insurance company has indicated that we'll be able to operate by July next year, provided we start rebuilding when the police have finished their investigations. This isn't the end of the Amity; not by a long stretch.”

The camera cut back to Lavender at this point, while the cold fury present in Arthur's voice left no doubt in the five mobster's minds over who he'd deemed “proper authorities”.

“Some strong words there. This is Lisa Lavender, reporting in the Vale, Sydney. Back to you, Cyril.”

* * *

As Cyril Ian began the finance report, a surprised young woman ran to her phone and rang a colleague of hers up. As the recipient of the call answered, the woman heard a massive clanging noise in the background.

“Hello?!”

“Sun, it's Velvet here. What the hell's happening at your end?”

“Oh hey there, er, Velvet. Kinda caught me at an awkward moment. What's up?”

“Did you see the ABC's news piece on the Amity just now?”

“No. As you might have guessed by now, I've spent the last half an hour trying to fix my washing machine. Anything important come up?”

“Well, they showed a picture of the shareholder that gave us all that information. He's in the picture we got of Rainart and Port taking bribes!”

Velvet then heard a huge sputtering noise in the background, followed by a whispered “ _SHIT!_ ” from Sun's mouth before he responded.

“Well, that's something worth looking in to. We'll do that the minute we clock in tomorrow. Anyhow, I'd better get cracking on the repairs before my pad floods over, so I'll hang up. See you tomorrow, Velv!”

“Bye!”, Velvet kindly replied before her superior placed the phone down. It was then that she noticed that her cheeks were flushed, and that her breathing sounded a little more desperate. _What's got me in a tizzy?_ Her memory promptly chimed in with an unsettling answer. _He called me Velv_ , she realised. _My old boyfriends were the only people who've ever called me that_.

Despite the fact she liked that pet name, the young detective shut her _other_ line of thought down. _I'll keep it professional and ask Sun to stop calling me Velv. "Never fish off the company dock”, my father always said –_

In a sudden case of perfect timing, Velvet's pet rabbit shat on the door of its cage. The sound that accompanied it snapped her owner out of wrestling her subconscious into submission and brought her down to earth.

“For the love of – _Josephine!_ ”, she whined.

As she set to work cleaning up the cage, the young cop failed to see the coincidence in the fact that she _also_ couldn't keep her home from messing itself up at inopportune times.  After all, Sun had just sat down in his bathroom to crank one out when his washing machine shat itself out of spite. [1] 

* * *

The next day, Mayor Leo Lionheart strolled into the Vale Council Chambers for his duties at the stroke of nine. Making his way to the office on the first floor, the derby-hatted figure shrugged off his tweed jacket and hung it before realising his office had an extra occupant.

“Morning, Mr. Mayor!”

Lionheart jumped slightly as the man who had him over a barrel emerged from the mayor's own seat, which had been turned away from the door.

“Couldn't you have waited another hour to see me? You know, when you were _asked to?!_ ”

Roman sighed as he turned the chair around and walked towards the mayor.

“Under normal circumstances, I would have done just that. However, the recent destruction of my restaurant has made me nervous for my safety, hence why I camped out in your office overnight.”

Lionheart refused to ask how the bastard did that; he found it saved time when conversing with him.

“Well never mind that,” he responded quickly as he sat in his seat. “Shall we get down to business?”

“Very well, Leo,” Roman responded jovially as he took the seat on the opposite side. “Due to _mitigating circumstances_ , I can't afford to spend any more time involved with the finalisation. Therefore, I have to trust that you'll fill our end of the bargain.”

“I'm prepared to try,” Lionheart replied, “but there's one last detail I'd like to iron out. I've gone over your development plans and noted a number of cut corners and shadier practices involved. If I am to get the developments approved, the law dictates that I must let the other council members scrutinise the plans. If they object to any of the cut corners, am I to amend the plans or stick to them?”

“Hmm, good question,” Roman conceded. “I'll need to think about it for a moment, if you don't mind.”

Lionheart nodded as Roman pondered the situation. _On the one hand_ , he reasoned, _I've got the mayor by the balls, and can always send my acquaintances to extend my reach over the rest of the council while I hide from the law. But if our motives got seized upon by some do-gooder councillor, then it would be all for nought_.

“Hold firm on the western developments,” he finally said, “but be prepared to change the plumbing and safety equipment with the southern developments if necessary.”

Lionheart nodded apprehensively.

“I suppose that could work, Roman. Is there anything else?”

Roman shook his head and promptly walked out, uttering “Thanks, Leo,” over his shoulder.

* * *

Meanwhile, Dr. Watts was walking towards the fish and chip shop at the intersection of Mistral Boulevard, Koukuana Avenue and Signal Circle for his lunch. Despite investing money in the high-class wreckage that used to be the Amity, the accountant harboured a love for all manner of seafood that surpassed his rich tastes.

As he made it to the crossing, he was tapped on his shoulder. Turning around, Dr. Watts saw a tall, muscular blonde man wearing jeans and a white dress shirt. The officer held out a badge that marked him down as a detective of Atlas Terrace.

“Is there something up, inspector …”

“Wukong,” the man responded. “And yes, there _is_ something up. We have a picture of you witnessing bribery that took place on the 19th of March during the late afternoon. It resulted in two of our officers resigning for accepting it.”

“Wait a minute!”, the accountant exclaimed. “Are you referring to the day I was at Roman Torchwick's manor?”

“Correct.”

“Well, I didn't know it was bribery when I saw it go down.”

Sun looked rather puzzled at this.

“Come again?”

“Well,” Watts replied smoothly and slowly, “when I walked up and saw those officers receiving cash from Roman, I made sure to ask about what I'd just witnessed. I was promptly told by one of the two cops that Mr. Torchwick had lost a bet on the rugby that they'd made with him, and the cash they'd just pocketed were their winnings.”

Sun nodded slowly.

“Alright, that does sound plausible.”

He fished inside his pocket and handed Watts his card.

“If you hear about anything suspicious that Torchwick gets up to, don't hesitate to ring this number and let me know, alright?”

“Alright,” Watts lied.

As the detective strode back to his car, Watts shook his head as he crossed the road.

“Cops are so easy to fool,” he muttered to himself smugly.

* * *

After a few days of much-needed quietude, April the 4th  rolled around, and Ruby Scarlett Rose was all set to enjoy her thirty-first birthday. Having awoken to the smell of cooked food at the stroke of seven, Ruby craned her head to the vacant side of her queen-sized bed. Pyrrha was approaching the open doorway with a tray, which contained what Ruby instantly deemed to be the best breakfast she'd been given from outside her family.

Pyrrha had painstakingly made a four-high stack of chocolate-chip pancakes with maple syrup and ice-cream, along with a bacon-and-egg sandwich which used two pieces of toast and tomato sauce as a side, and a perfectly-brewed white and two to wash it down. Ruby was drooling at the sight _instantly_ ; the fact that the cook was wearing a transparent plastic apron _and nothing else_ was gravy to her mind.

After an immensely satisfying breakfast, Ruby kissed her better half goodbye at Vale Primary and went to greet her first years. Little did she know that during lunch the preceding day, the school's principal had gone around to each of the children in her charge and told them about her upcoming birthday.

So Ruby nearly fainted when her kids marched in after the bell with the principal, singing “Happy Birthday!”. Ruby was given a cake which looked like a giant choc-chip cookie; truthfully, it was a blondie cake with melted squares of chocolate embedded all throughout.

“Thank you so much, kids!”, she gratefully said after blowing out the candles. “As reward for your kindness, there won't be any lessons after you've done your reading today!”

The resultant cheer thundered throughout the corridors of Vale Primary School.

After she'd come home at four-thirty that afternoon, Ren, Weiss and Nora all came personally to see her. Ren had given her the two latest entries in the Discworld series; “Sourcery” and “Wyrd Sisters” were their titles, and Ruby found herself eagerly looking forward to reading them.

Nora, meanwhile, had given the assassin a counter-weight to humourous fantasy with a book of humourous science fiction. “Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency” was something Ruby never expected to get from Nora, given how the ginger usually tended to get anything that pertained to firearms, but she would _never_ refuse a Douglas Adams novel.

As for Weiss, what she'd termed a Black Forest spider was handed to Ruby. Coke and strawberry ice-cream was the combination at play, and Ruby _instantly_ loved it. Weiss was also kind enough to give her five drinks on the house if she ever needed it, and Ruby happily accepted the offer.

Despite the excitement of the mid-afternoon exchanges, the greatest event to go down was set to commence at six o'clock sharp. Even within their poker meets, the Bellas rarely took anything seriously outside of their criminal activities. Tonight was the single exception to that rule, for Ruby's favourite passion was set to be indulged and enjoyed by a select few. Yang, Ruby, Blake and Pyrrha were going to play Dungeons and Dragons, with Qrow serving as the dungeon master for the evening's proceedings.

Half an hour before the arrivals were set to come, however, an unexpected visitor came to the door with a box. Ruby had just ordered two family-sized pizzas when the knocks came through. She went to the door and opened it as Pyrrha readied the glasses, and found herself looking at Velvet Scarlatina, who was holding a large cardboard box under her left arm.

* * *

“Happy birthday, Ruby!”, the brunette said merrily.

“Why, t-thanks Velvet,” Ruby said with not a little surprise. “Haven't seen you in a while; how have you been?”

“Well,” Velvet replied, “my new job's going great. What about your teaching gig?”

“It's already paid dividends,” Ruby replied humourously. “The kids surprised me this morning with a blondie cake that had been done up to look like a giant cookie!”

Velvet laughed warmly.

“That sounds amazing. And speaking of presents, I'm due to visit my parents for dinner tonight, but I wanted to drop off someone I'd like you to meet. Here he is!”

Velvet opened the box onto the floor, and out trotted a baby Pembroke Welsh Corgi.

Ruby was stunned into silence as long-forgotten memories of her dad's old Corgi, Eins, flooded to the surface. She felt nine years old again as a pair of soulful grey eyes looked up at her.

“ _He's_ _ **so**_ _beautiful!_ ”, the murderess cooed. “I'll call him Zwei!”

“Suits him well enough,” Velvet responded kindly, while handing the box to Ruby. “I found him at the animal shelter yesterday, and remembered that you once had a corgi. I then realised that your birthday was today, so I knew exactly what I should do with him. Inside the box is some food, along with his bowls and his bed.”

“Aw, thanks again, Velvet,” Ruby replied warmly. “We'll need to catch up soon for a coffee or something; it's been months since I've seen you.”

Velvet nodded.

“Fair enough. How does the 8th at the Weiss Cream place sound?”

“Perfect! I'll see you then, Velvet!”

“Sure thing, Ruby!”

* * *

Velvet leapt onto her motorcycle and sped off for the northern tip of Vacuo Road, while Ruby led her new puppy inside his new home.

“Who was at the door, love?”, Pyrrha called out as she filled an esky with ten kilograms of ice.

“Velvet swung by with the best present I've ever gotten,” Ruby said cheerily as she and Zwei entered the room.

Pyrrha turned to face her and saw what Ruby was getting at.

“Velvet got you a puppy?! That's so sweet of her,” she said kindly. “What have you called him?”

“His name is Zwei,” Ruby responded quickly.

“Ah, that's fair enough,” her lover replied, having heard the Eins story before.

Ruby then placed the water and food bowls on the other side of the back door, before draining a water bottle into the former and emptying a small can of food in the latter. She placed the dog bed within the dining room across from the kitchen, away from the living room out front where the night's activities were set to commence. Zwei made a beeline for the food instantly, and Pyrrha mentally thanked the previous owners for installing a dogflap.

Not two minutes after the mexican and hawaiian pizzas arrived and the Cooper's Pale was chilled to satisfaction, the three other members of the Vale Dungeons and Dragons Society entered the house at the stroke of six. Yang held the character sheets, along with red, silver, green, purple, and gold dice sets.

“Tonight,” the quarter-master began, “we're using dice sets based on eye colour. Character sheets have used the same colour scheme with the ink.”

“Clever work, Yang,” the sergeant-at-arms replied enthusiastically, picking her silver set and sheet while the treasurer retrieved her green counterparts.

The king of the society was next to enter, wearing the business suit and red tie that was his custom. His eyes nearly matched the latter, appearing like rust in a good light, and he brought the campaign they'd been working through inch-by-inch.

Lastly, the vizier entered and found herself on the receiving end of a concerted pair of smirks from a pair of smug auburn lovers. The 8-6 loss that Blake's team endured against Ruby and Pyrrha's team on the 2nd  likely had something to do with it.

“Don't mention it,” she hissed near-silently as she fetched her dice and sheet, the pair stifling their laughter while their boss sat down.

The pair of two-seater couches that sat along the northern and western walls now lay occupied; Ruby and Pyrrha sat on the former, while Yang left a space next to the window for Blake. Qrow, as usual, sat down on the armchair on the eastern side of the window, a television set between him and Blake.

“Alright,” the DM started, “we left off just before you four swarthy heroines agreed to descend to the basement level of Merlot's keep ...”

Little did they know that three hours later, a pair of dark and vengeful forces began to hunt for them that very night.

* * *

Emerald was struggling to control her nerves while she drove Tyrian's white 1982 Volvo 340 slowly north on Sanus Street. Having just come down off of a high he'd scored earlier in the day, the madman sat in the passenger seat. He giggled softly and constantly, fondling his silenced Beretta 92 in his left jacket pocket all the while. As the car rounded left onto Beacon Street, Emerald pulled over and felt obliged to remind the crazed addict about his duties.

“Remember the plan. When I get to the bushes on the other side of Blake Belladonna's house, you park the car in front of it. Enter the house however you see fit, then blow her brains out and run. The minute I see you leave, I'll take it from there. Got it?”

Tyrian nodded with a surprising amount of calmness.

“All right then. I'll get out of the car now and let you get on with it.”

Emerald exited the car, leaving the keys in the ignition, then made good time in her rubber-soled shoes down to the bushes that faced the fence between Blake's house and Ruby's house. Tyrian got in the driver's seat, and shut the door. He wound down his window to look for the number clearly, and readied his gun.

But in a moment of amazing stupidity, Tyrian forgot to stop the car when he was supposed to, realising his mistake a split-second too late. Improvising in the heat of the moment, he fired his pistol wildly at the house's front window and sped off cackling loudly, abandoning Emerald to the elements and his target to their doom. In a cruel twist of fate, the bullet missed every mobster in the room, but lodged itself in Qrow's abdomen.

Qrow had just stood up to leave when the bullet got to him, forcing him to fall over and upend the coffee table in the loungeroom. The four shocked ladies heard the screeching of car tires and nasty laughter fading in the distance, before they noticed the blood and collectively freaked out.

“ _ **QROW!!!**_ ”, Ruby screamed as she ran towards him with tears welling in her eyes. With great presence of mind, Blake ran to fetch the first aid box and Pyrrha retrieved the keys to Qrow's new BMW E34 from the hook near the door. Ruby, meanwhile, was stopping the bleeding as best she could, while Yang was trying to keep him awake until Blake patched up his wounds. Once that was done, Yang turned to face her boss.

“Me and Ruby will get Qrow to hospital, Blake. You and Pyrrha stay frosty and watch out for any suspicious activity.”

Blake nodded swiftly. “Agreed. I'll nip over the fence to fetch my M16 and keep lookout.”

Pyrrha retrieved her .300 Winchester Magnum from underneath the northern couch, and her affirmative expression could have opened a strongroom.

Having watched a simple job go up shit creek, Emerald was visibly angered at Tyrian's fecklessness and lack of professionalism. However, her mood worsened  _quick–smart_ when she saw an injured man being ushered into a car by a pair of women – neither of whom were Blake Belladonna.

 _**Son** _ _of a_ _**bitch**_ , Emerald realised, _we got sent to hit the_ _**wrong bloody house! Neo** _ _fucking_ _ **set us up**_ _ **!** _

Thinking quickly, the thief retrieved a well-worn pencil from her pocket and pinched a letter from the letterbox closest to the bushes. Dumping the contents whence they came, the thief decided to leave a clue for the Bellas, writing on the empty envelope within the street light's range.

 _To whom it may concern, the arsehole who shot that man had a brown ponytail and was driving a white 1982 Volvo 340, licence plate number P1NC3R5. I hope this helps you bring him to justice_.

Waiting until the trio drove away, Emerald nipped across the road and slid the note under the garage door. She then ran at full sprint down to Sanus Street, and walked slowly into her ground-floor apartment in the complex on the corner.

 _Although Roman will get even more paranoid when Tyrian dies_ , Emerald reasoned as she disrobed and lay in her bed, _Tyrian nearly blew our cover with his laughing, shot a civilian who wasn't being targeted, and was incompetent enough to fuck up the most basic of jobs. So_ , Emerald concluded, _all I've done is damn a liability whom we all hated. Helping those poor women get justice for what happened is an added bonus_.

Needless to say, Emerald slept easily that night. The streets would be much safer without that freak around.

* * *

1 Synchronicity is truly an absurd mistress. In all seriousness, this really shouldn't surprise the reader.[return to text] ** __ **

**A/N: First off, I could hardly reference my favourite author of all time in this chapter without using a footnote.**

**In any case, the plot is thickening. Tune in when October's finished.**

**And regarding Volume 5, I really hope that Lionheart's an anti-villain or anti-hero.**


	10. Revelations and Rumours

### Chapter Ten: Revelations and Rumours

At seven the following morning, Qrow awoke after the surgeons removed the bullet from his guts and patched the wound up. He saw an extremely haggard Ruby asleep in a chair opposite him, and Yang snoozing on the floor to his right.

“Ugh,” he groaned while taking stock of his surroundings. “This'll be fun to explain to my boss.”

At once, Yang and Ruby awoke, concern evident in their drowsy eyes.

“How are you feeling?”, Ruby asked quietly.

Qrow chuckled in pained amusement.

“I've eaten curries that gave my bowels more grief than this.”

Upon hearing that, both his nieces laughed warmly and softly; they knew their dear old uncle would pull through just fine after his display of gallows humour.

As Qrow started to relax half an hour later, Blake and Pyrrha met up with Yang and Ruby, congregating outside for a much-needed and Blake-provided drinks break.

“So,” Blake began with beer in her mouth, “there's something that came up while you two drove Qrow here. Pyrrha, care to hand over the note that you found in the garage?”

Pyrrha nodded, fishing it out of her purse and giving it to Yang and Ruby to pore over. After a minute, Yang returned the note and responded.

“Whoever wrote this note must've seen something. Was it one of the neighbours?”

Blake shook her head.

“No. The police came not long after you three left and interviewed us. None of our neighbours within three doors of us saw the vehicle – but all of them heard the shot, and the Robertsons across the road from us heard the same laughter we did.”

The mere mention of that laughter upped Ruby's anger. She was determined to butcher the living daylights out of the arsehole who shot Qrow. Despite him not being a blood relative of hers, the barrister had welcomed her into his family as easily as Yang had done in 1978. Ruby therefore considered him as an honorary uncle of hers, and felt the overriding urge to chuck a sickie and use the time to hunt the bastard down herself.

The note they received, however, would prove useful to Yang – providing the idiot was stupid enough to actually try and sell off the car before he got caught. Stifling her vengeance for the moment, Ruby spoke up after a swig of the Cooper's.

“Yang, it might be worth scouring the classified ads for this white Volvo 340. Given the laughter, this guy might be stupid enough to try selling it.”

Yang smirked as her response came.

“A crate of Pale Ale says he keeps the P1NC3R5 plates on there.”

Ruby laughed heartily.

“You're on.”

* * *

Blake took this as her cue to re-enter the debate.

“There's something else that needs to be discussed. After last night's events, it's become clear that we need to change tactics. They got Ruby's address from _someone_ , and I'd like that loose end dealt with quickly and efficiently. The question is; who supplied that information?”

Ruby looked distinctly uncomfortable, and pierced the elephant in the room with a verbal harpoon.

“Neo's squealed.”

Pyrrha, who'd remained silent until that point, gasped and responded furiously.

“ _What?!_ How _can_ you suggest such a vile course of action?!”

Ruby held Pyrrha's hands in her own and looked … almost embarrassed.

“Remember what Cinder told Blake and Jaune about Roman? She said that Neo was with him.”

Blake facepalmed angrily.

“Of fucking course.”

“Well,” Ruby continued, “when I saw Roman's compound, level of security, and Neo's absence within the funeral party, I surmised that she was captured. After all, these plans would have occurred straight after the bikie war finished, had she willingly sold us out. What this means is that she's finally caved in after three months of captivity. Either way, we'll need to get her out of there before someone else gets targeted.”

There wasn't much worth adding to the evidence pile after that, and the other three women nodded in acquiescence.

“You're absolutely right, Ruby,” Pyrrha admitted, “but we'll need to deal with this shooter as well. How should we proceed?”

Blake concentrated for a minute, holding her hands outstretched in front of her so her subordinates got the hint. Finally, she opened her eyes, and turned towards Yang.

“Yang, you and Cinder are to track the bastard down. When either of you find out his name, inform me. I'll then signal Ruby, Ren, and Ren's crew to assist Yang in making him suffer.”

Yang nodded mutely, and Blake turned to Ruby and Pyrrha.

“Pyrrha, I'll have you prepare an area for the butchery. As for you, Ruby, I'll entrust you with monitoring the Torchwick compound for any activity. If you see anything incriminating or weird, take a picture of the evidence and run to me.”

Her three lieutenants nodded silently, and Blake walked back inside to watch over Qrow in Ruby's stead while Pyrrha took the sisters to their respective jobs.

* * *

At twelve that day, Qrow was discharged with strict bed-rest orders for the remainder of the week. This was something the perennial workaholic and part-time alcoholic didn't take kindly to, as Blake learned to her suffering while navigating her Corona towards his house on Kuchinashi Avenue.

“ … As I was saying, the bed rest is bad enough, but I _can't fucking drink_ because the meds won't work. I mean … ”

Blake gritted her teeth and turned south onto his home street. _For_ _**fuck's sake** _ , she mentally groused, _I've_ _**killed** _ _people who didn't complain this much_. Finally, she pulled into her driveway and led Qrow inside with his medication, remaining only to call Yang and request her help in dealing with the cranky codger.

Having made it back home not long after Yang arrived to watch over Qrow's convalescence, Blake retreated to her war room, once again in a frenzy. She took out a pad of lined A4 paper, retrieved a pencil and started writing rather shakily about the plan against Qrow's attacker, along with a second plan for after the whole affair was concluded. She kept at it for five hours straight, having brought home some Chinese to go, and had just finished writing when the phone went off downstairs. _I'd better see who that is_ , she reasoned. _For all I know, Yang and Cinder might've gotten lucky already_. She clambered down the stairs briskly, massaging some feeling into her right hand and wrist as she retrieved the phone off of it's cradle.

“Hello?”

“Ready for your weekly dose of sunshine?”

Blake smirked smugly; her new man was both eager _and_ easy to please. “When am I not?”

“Of course, sugarplum! Does mine at 7 work out for you?”

“It _sure does_ ,” Blake replied, not wanting her lover to see anything incriminating.

“Cool beans. See you then!”

As she hung up, Blake realised she had another reason for the second plan she'd been authoring that afternoon. _Yes, he's_ _**definitely** _ _a part of why I'm even considering this move, and there will be questions asked about it. But the results will be worth it._ _**He** _ _will be worth it_.

* * *

As Blake finished her work and prepared herself, her paramour was in a cleaning frenzy at his bungalow at the north-eastern corner of Windpath Drive. Sun had always been a perennial people-pleaser, so one can imagine his extreme fervour when his better half agreed to come over to his house in two hour's time.

Mercifully, both the bathroom and bedroom were deemed to be clean enough when he got home, and the laundry had been professionally cleaned after the whole debacle with the washing machine. The first thing he'd done when he arrived home was ring Blake, before picking up the broom and sweeping his floors.

He then cleared off the detritus from his coffee table, and prepared the scented candles for the pending tryst in his bedroom after making his bed and piling his dirty clothes in his wicker basket. At present, he was setting the dining room table and preparing a three-point candelabra, doing the last thing he could think of before the daunting task of cooking Blake's favourite meal.

“Of all the bloody things a restaurateur _could've_ called her favourite dish,” Sun whinged as he finished the setting and walked to his kitchen, “it just _had_ to be spaghetti with tuna and lemon.”

Pulling out the recipe he'd written down at her restaurant, he brought the water to boil in his pot and threw in the spaghetti. During the nine minutes it took to cook up the pasta, he finely chopped up half a red onion and crushed some garlic, cooking it in extra virgin until it softened after draining the pasta.

Taking the pan off the heat, he added the pasta, along with flaked tuna, chopped parsley and lemon rind. Tossing the combination of foods thoroughly, he added only a pinch of pepper to the mix before he was satisfied with the results. As he took a moment to throw on a clean shirt and light the candles, the sound of Blake's Corona pulling into his driveway jolted his senses.

“Well, here goes nothing,” he muttered as he opened the door with his suit jacket on his finger, then he fell silent as he beheld Blake.

She wore a bow on her head, looking like the cat ears that she'd worn last month had stayed on. A white dress shirt was nigh invisible underneath her dress; it was black-and-black check, stopped above her knees, and had sleeves that ended halfway between the shoulder and elbow. A pair of black ankle boots adorned her feet, with thick dark purple stockings completing the look. Her appearance reminded Sun of an all-grown-up Wednesday Addams, and his tan two-piece suit made him look amateurish in comparison. The fact he'd neglected to shave didn't help his case either, but Blake wasn't picky on this occasion.

“Hey, sea-monkey,” Blake purred sultrily as Sun lead her in.

“Hey, kitten,” the blonde replied. “Dinner's just finished, so feel free to take a seat when you're ready.”

Blake gave her lover a leery smile as he helped her into her seat. Sun then removed the two pan lids that he'd used to keep the food warm, and then reached behind him and retrieved two bottles of Cooper's Pale. Striking a dramatic pose, he held the colder bottle towards his woman and hammed it up.

“O Blakey, my Blakey! Time to enjoy your daily dose of tuna and beer.”

Blake smiled and laughed warmly; she'd never met a man who could be so goofy, yet so gentlemanly at the same time.

“You crawler!”, she said between laughs, causing him to break out in laughter as he sat down.

* * *

Dinner proved to be a pleasant affair for the both of them. Blake had never met a single person who could get her father's tuna pasta recipe correct before today; she'd consequently found that Sun could surprise her in ways she'd never expected. Even though the surprises she'd dealt with in her line of her work left her wary of them in day-to-day life, the mafioso was impressed that Sun could throw together something so good so quickly, and she'd made sure to say so.

However, Sun's hastily-arranged night in meant that he'd neglected to file an important request for Chief Inspector Goodwitch, and Velvet had to stay behind to fill the form out. She wasn't terribly happy about this either, and was fuming silently as she grabbed a pen from Goodwitch's hand. _I'm going to call into Sun's place and give him a blast for this_ , she mentally growled as she tore into the request form. As Velvet hopped to work, her intended victim was leading Blake towards his bedroom.

“Ta- _da!_ ”, he chorused while opening the door. An aroma of rose petals and belladonna lilies flitted into the Italian's nostrils, and she was enraptured from the start. The fact that Sun's room was neater than it had ever been was a bonus.

“Sun, this is amazing. All for me, too,” she said dreamily as he smiled.

“Of course; nothing but the best for my beloved Belladonna!”

Blake laughed heartily at the wordplay, as she coiled her arm around Sun's chiselled shoulders as they kicked off their respective shoes.

“You weren't kidding when you offered me my weekly dose of sunshine, Sun. Think it's time to lighten the tension?”

Sun had known Blake long enough to catch her drift, and played along.

“Sure; it'll satisfy you, but it could kill you.”

Blake blinked as she processed the joke, then laughed hard for a brief second.

“Well,” she purred seductively, “I'll take those chances.”

Sun nodded eagerly, then removed his shirt and pants at breakneck speed, prompting Blake to ditch her dress and stockings as well. Soon enough, both lovers were fully nude, with Sun's member standing proudly to attention.

“Lead the way, you funky monkey!”

Sun nodded, slipping on some protection before leading her gently to the bed, and proceeding to start the loudest sexual escapade in the Vale's history.

By this point, a rather vexed detective had just parked her motorcycle in the street outside her superior's house. Velvet walked up briskly to the front door, and knocked three times. Neither of the occupants heard the noise, but Sun's unwitting response was called out loud enough to carry to Velvet's ears – ten minutes later.

“ _I'm coming!_ _Oh_ _ **dammit,**_ _I'm_ _ **coming!**_ ”

Velvet had waited long enough. She opened the door swiftly, and found herself listening to her boss shagging the living daylights out of a black-haired woman. By the sounds of it, both of them were climaxing at “The Who”-level volumes. Not wishing to interrupt them, Velvet quietly shut the door and walked outside, waiting for ten minutes before a raven-haired vixen walked towards the purple Corona parked in the driveway.

Just looking at her gave Velvet the creeps, and she was lucky to avoid detection when Blake drove in the opposite direction. Removing her helmet, she then stormed up to the closed door and knocked as firmly as her slender wrists could allow. A rather haggard voice spoke to her, the owner opening the door with closed eyes.

“Up for round two, sugarplum?”

Velvet's response was a sharp rabbit punch to the man's nuts before storming off. Velvet didn't even hear her boss's rather pained realisation that he'd forgotten to fill in that vital piece of paperwork, and the resultant apologies.

* * *

The following morning, a rather bashful Sun walked timidly into his office at eight-thirty, and sat down silently while waiting for his second-in-command to chew him out for his forgetfulness. To his surprise, however, there was no trace of anger visible on Velvet's face as she entered five minutes later. Promptly shutting the door, she sat down and faced the strangest sight she'd beheld in Atlas Terrace Station; her leader looked positively emasculated. His shoulders were sagged and he looked utterly miserable.

“Sun,” Velvet said carefully, “I know you're immensely sorry for forgetting to file that request to stake out at Roman's compound.”

“I know. Is there anything else to discuss?”

Velvet then gave him her attention.

“Why were you screwing that creep when I walked in?”

That was likely the worst thing for Sun to have heard at that point, but Velvet wasn't letting him avoid criticism for his behaviour. Still, his hackles rose again in defence of his love.

“Velvet, that's not fair. Blake's never struck me as creepy; quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. Why, do you take her for a criminal in disguise or something?”

Now, it was Velvet's turn to get defensive, and she held her hands up to calm her boss down.

“I'm not saying that she's a criminal, Sun – truthfully, I don't know what she does with her life outside running the Vytal. I'm just saying that I felt something off about her when she walked out, like she just _reeked_ of danger.”

Sun considered Velvet's words for a moment. As intelligent, warm and gorgeous as Blake was, he knew that Velvet's skill at reading people was second to none in his line of work. If Velvet said that she got the creeps from Blake, then he now knew better than to get _too_ close to her. Conceding her point, Sun slumped forward in his chair.

“Maybe you're right, Velvet. But I'm still feeling conflicted about the whole shebang. She's never treated me with anything but kindness and love, and I've never felt unwelcome in her company.”

Velvet's expression softened in response.

“I'm sure that's true, Sun. I'm just advising you to be careful around her, for everybody's sake.”

* * *

At eleven-thirty that morning, Yang was poring the pages of the Daily Telegraph for used cars. She'd never be caught dead reading this paper in public, being borderline socialist in view, so she usually stashed it in her private office before anyone else saw it and mocked her for it. The Morning Herald was already leafed through, and Yang had located a number of prospective cars for her crew to do up in the coming weeks. She was half a page in when Roy dashed into the office, holding an advertisement he'd found on a noticeboard in the local supermarket.

“Boss, is this the Volvo you wanted to find?”

Yang grabbed the piece of paper and smirked.

“Yep; that's the one! Thanks Roy!”

Tyrian had posted an image of the car, complete with P1NC3R5 licence plates, and listed his address and an asking price. _What an idiot_ , Yang crowed. _**Of course**_ _he's too bloody cheap to put in a notice for the classifieds._

Pyrrha, meanwhile, was cleaning out the basement that lay beneath her end of the dealership. She was planning the killing floor's layout when Yang jumped downstairs and ran to her in a daze.

“The arsehole's selling the car off!”, Yang breathed, clearly having run at breakneck pace to pass the news.

Pyrrha nodded.

“That's very good to hear. Could you please summon Ren and his crew to help me finish preparations?”

“You got it, Pyrrha. I'll meet up with the creep and arrange to buy it at six this evening; I'd like to have Ruby and Ren's section of the gang waiting near me by then.”

Pyrrha hesitated, then nodded in reply.

“I'll tell Ren and his men when they arrive, and I'll ring Ruby when lunch gets called.”

Yang beamed as she walked towards the stairs.

“Good to hear! I'll be back here as soon as I can.”

At the stroke of twelve o'clock, Yang walked towards the address on Patch and Signal's south-western corner. She'd changed out of her grey work uniform and settled on a sun-yellow dress and black pumps, with her long, curly mullet swinging behind her in the breeze. Her sunglasses hid the palpable expression of disgust when she saw Tyrian Callows outside his house.

The house itself wasn't in bad shape, but it was as lower class as it got in the Vale and the garden had _definitely_ seen better days. Much to Yang's silent alarm, Tyrian himself was sitting cross-legged in his front yard, smiling crazily with his eyes closed. He wore a white singlet, with matching khakis and brown suspenders. A pair of brown ugg boots adorned his feet, while his hair was cropped short … except for a inch-wide rat's tail that flew to his abdomen.

The crazed expression on his face and his strange posture was very off-kilter, and Yang was forced to push her hackles down before talking to him.

“You're offering $1000 for that Volvo, I take it?”

Tyrian jumped to his feet and turned his gaze onto Yang, who fought the urge to back away from his bugged-out amber eyes and leery smile.

“Why yes, deary. Are you willing to buy it now?”

“Well,” Yang replied, “I'm looking to buy it for my sister. I'm convinced this is good enough, but she'd want to see it before deciding on it.”

Tyrian nodded understandingly.

“That sounds fair.”

“She'll be knocking off of work around five, so we'll swing around at say, six o'clock?”

Thankfully, the man hadn't taken any meth so far that day, and was consequently in a _relatively_ calm mood. “Of course! Anything for you, gorgeous!”

It took all of Yang's willpower to force a smile and walk away. At five to six that evening, a doped-up Tyrian was keeping a lookout to the west of his house when a woman called out to him.

“Excuse me?”

Tyrian, slightly startled, turned to face the new voice with a vicious grin. An angry pair of silver eyes was the last thing he saw before a well-timed punch to the head rendered him unconscious.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Apologies for the short chapter; the employment provider I got assigned to made me go on a three-week course for job hunting and other minutiae, so I couldn't write the sexual escapade that I wanted to do.**

**As you all know by now, Volume Five's already started, and I'm glad I got the first membership months ago. The Weiss vs. Lancers fight was _amazing_ , and I'm intrigued as to how Hazel's story line pans out.**

**And last, an announcement: I'm due to release an album (or an album demo, at least) of ten original songs during November. The album will be called "Mantras For Modern Times", under the band name of Dawnforest. It'll be up on iTunes for purchase, so feel free to have a look!**

**Anyway, I'll see you all at the end of November. Hope you enjoyed the halfway mark to Goodbellas!**


	11. Uncivil War

### Chapter Eleven: Uncivil War

At a quarter to six that evening, Dove and Russel were on their way to Yang's dealership, carrying with them the tools they wished to use on the fiend. Pyrrha had ushered the rest of her staff out as early as she could've allowed, promising the killers that she'd keep lookout while she worked on her accounts and they worked on their victim.

Yang, meanwhile, was making preparations for the … _unique_ disposal method that Ruby had suggested. Finally, Ren waited in his Vanagon, with Cardin and Sky at the ready. They were parked nine doors down from Tyrian's house wearing disposable gloves, waiting for Ruby to walk past and wave them forward.

“By the way, Ren,” Cardin started while leaning into the cab, “there's one thing that's come to my attention that I think we should act on.”

“What do you have in mind?”, Ren responded.

“Given her captivity, should we enquire about Neo and the other people in his group?”

Ren stared ahead with eyes widened; Cardin had suggested an excellent idea.

“That does sound reasonable,” he conceded, “but I guess we'll wait until he's in the basement before that decision gets made.”

Cardin had just seated himself in the rear of the van before Sky spotted Ruby standing towards the rear door, waving at an imaginary fly.

“Boss, Ruby's given us the cue!”

“Roger that!”, Ren replied as he fired up the engine.

As Ruby came past the sixth house, the van pulled away from the kerb and drove forward. The Vanagon came to a gentle stop outside Tyrian's house as Ruby punched his lights out.

Sky and Cardin threw the door open and jumped out to help Ruby drag their mark inside while she pocketed his car keys. Mercifully, there were no bystanders within sight on Tyrian's side of the street, and the van blocking the view from the cinema complex on the opposite side.

As Cardin and Sky duct-taped Tyrian's wrists, mouth, eyes and feet to each other, Ruby closed the door and leant into the passenger seat next to Ren.

“I'd suggest taking off as you'd usually do,” she murmured swiftly as he fired the engine up.

“Of course, Ruby,” he replied calmly.

Ruby jumped into the Volvo and turned the ignition on.

“Off to the dealership we go,” she murmured to herself.

The pair of cars took off, without a single witness within sight or earshot to alert the police.

* * *

While the van drove east towards Sanus Street, the Atlas Terrace station was switching to the night shift. Instead of clocking off, the eight officers of Operation Rosewood had decided to discuss their next move about the Amity's investigation.

“Yatsuhashi, did you and Fox come up with a likely scenario for the blast?”

“We did,” the giant Japanese man affirmed. “There was a combination of explosive materials used, with fertiliser-based explosives being the most prominent. Additional materials include natural gas from the kitchens, petroleum poured on the floor, and a small, shaped charge of what is likely to be C4.”

A low whistle emerged from Sun's lips.

“Well, they _clearly_ meant business. Any idea as to how many people did this?”

“Can't say for sure,” Fox replied, “but there are some hints. The safe and what was left of the till were empty, with no trace of burnt notes or coins within them. Therefore, whomever put the Amity to the torch burgled the place first. Given that it closed at eleven and blew up at half-past twelve, there was no way that a lone operator was responsible for this.”

“Just as we suspected,” Velvet remarked. “The staff had all left by quarter-past, and the sheer amount of explosives used in this whole thing was too much to be a random attack. This was _clearly_ premediated.”

“If that's so,” Neptune piped up, “then why did the restaurant get targeted?”

“Hmm,” Sun murmured lowly, stroking his chin before electing to think out loud. “Well, Velvet and I discovered from the head chef that Torchwick's a stakeholder in the restaurant, along with that accountant on the news. Perhaps it's something to do with his development plans?”

“That may be true,” Coco continued. “We could talk to the Mayor about it, see if anyone's officially lodged a complaint or something.”

“That sounds fair,” Sun admitted, “though I'll need to clear it with Ozpin and Glynda first. By the way, Coco, did you or anyone else get any information from the guests?”

Coco looked somewhat miffed at the question.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Hang about,” Velvet interjected, “there _was_ a woman doing a job trial there that night, according to the busboy. Olive Ettenblau, she was called. Perhaps she'd been planted there by accomplices to get a layout before gutting the place.”

“That's the best we've got?”, Sun asked flatly.

“It's either that, or entertaining the idea that Torchwick did it himself to cash in on the insurance,” his second-in-command replied.

“And that's _way_ too cliché for someone like him to do,” Neptune muttered.

“Anyway people,” Sun announced, “me and Velvet are on stakeout duty tonight at the Torchwick manor. Tomorrow morning, we'll go about constructing a description of this Olive person and pass it around, while Sage and Scarlet take over the stakeout for us. The rest of you will continue enquiries into the Amity fire. Any questions?”

Seeing only a gaggle of shaking heads, Sun began to beam.

“Good to hear. See you lot in the morning!”

As the rest of the Rosewood team left for home, Velvet followed Sun down the stairs towards his car, parked in the basement parking lot. It was a royal blue 1987 Ford Taurus, and its darker colour made it better suited to undercover work.

* * *

While the detectives made it to the parklands abutting the developer's northern perimeter, Ren's van had made it inside the rear of Real Steals On Wheels. Having finished preparations inside, Russel and Dove were at the gate when their prize arrived with its escort. They swiftly swung the gates shut, with the corrugated iron sheets on both the gate and the rear fence providing excellent cover for a shifty piece of shifting.

Once the gates were held shut, Ruby threw open the door, while Cardin and Sky carefully hauled Tyrian's unconscious figure down the ladder that led to the basement. Yang and Pyrrha, also wearing gloves, took the strain and hefted Tyrian's body up, careful to avoid spilling any blood before they reached the torture table. Satisfied, Pyrrha walked up the ladder while she motioned for the murderers to file down. With Sky and Cardin electing to stand guard in the van, the other four killers donned hairnets and hazard suits, and slowly descended into the killing zone.

Tyrian came to an hour later, finding himself gagged and bound to a trestle table, facing the ladder. Newspapers were carefully laid around the room, along with a second table filled with hammers, nails, cricket bats and blowtorches – all neatly placed along its length. A pair of thick wooden posts and what looked like a large scythe had been propped along the wall behind it.

To his right, Tyrian spied an Asian man glaring at him, flanked on either side by two short Caucasian men. The sight of them sobered Tyrian, for even he knew hardened killers when he saw them. And on the left, Yang was handing Ruby a crate of Coopers Pale Ale within a cold esky. Ruby duly threw back a few mouthfuls of the stuff, retrieved the scythe and the bats, and then turned to face Tyrian.

 _Wait a second_ , he realised with a grimace, _she was the owner of the house I shot at yesterday … she_ _ must _ _be part of the whole “Belladonna Mafia” that Roman talked about. This doesn't bode well at all._

As Ruby handed her compatriots the bats and advanced with scythe in hand, it didn't take long for Tyrian Callows to realise just how correct his suspicions were. Not long at all.

Especially when Ruby removed his pants and jammed the scythe up his backside, which _tore open_ under the pressure and allowed the specially-serrated blade to castrate Tyrian all too slowly.

As Tyrian screamed and howled into his gag, Yang began hammering the wood pieces together, arranging it as per Ruby's desires. Once that was done, she dipped it in oil and left it to marinate inside a duffel bag. A second, longer one was standing by to transport their victim to his final resting place – wherever that may be.

* * *

While the rest of the murderers started pelting their mark with the bats, Mayor Lionheart was imbibing a sizable amount of booze in his home after failing Roman's mission. The western developments were fine on their own, the council reasoned, and the concession-loaded southern plans were passable on their own as well. The trouble, Lionheart had realised, was that these plans were not suitable when paired _together_ and done at the same time – at least, in the eyes of the council. They wanted a stage-by-stage development – as a means of testing both the veracity of Roman's vision and his honesty – and that was something Roman had made Lionheart swear to avoid at all costs.

To his credit, Lionheart didn't falter; to his sorrow, the council refused to back down. As he staggered towards the bed, he noticed an article in the Daily Telegraph by Ilia Amitola, complaining about urban decay close to the city centre. Lionheart was sober enough to remember that the loony woman was a professional nay-sayer with zero love for developers, yet drunk enough to throw out his inhibitions over what he was being blackmailed into doing. _My God,_ Lionheart realised giddily, _that's it! Ilia hates modern developers with a passion. No doubt she'll kick up an absolute hissy fit over something as bad as this._

As Lionheart made a note of his next course of action, Tyrian was clinging on for dear life. He'd already lost feeling in his left arm, gained splinters all over his body, and felt as though his entire ribcage had been shattered. Feeling entertained enough, Ruby decided to end things with a snarl.

“This is what happens when you buggers shit where the Bellas eat.”

She then grabbed the scythe and pulled backwards and upwards. Tyrian let out a final, petering scream into his gag as he was disembowelled and turned into a human meat wagon. After Ren and his crew finished cleaning the area and stashing Tyrian's body in the bags, Ruby spoke.

“Guys, I know I've told you that I wanted to crucify him and burn him at the same time. The only thing is … I don't know where the hell I should place the crucifix.”

Yang, having remained silent throughout the night's proceedings, decided to pipe up after Ren and his men exchanged confused glances.

“Well, I have one location in mind, Ruby.”

Ruby looked puzzled.

“Where is it?”

Yang told her. An eerie smile arranged itself on Ruby's face in response.

“That may be one of the best ideas I've heard on the job, Yang. We'll set it up at 5 in the morning, but with a long fuse.”

* * *

At seven the following day, Friday the 7 th  of April, Dr. Watts awoke to the sound of his fire alarm going off.

“What in blue blazes is going on?”, he wondered aloud while turning the errant alarm off.

“There's no smoke coming from the kitchen or laundry, the dog's in the backyard barking like mad. What is the problem?”

No sooner had he said that than he spied the source of the smoke – his open window. Walking towards it, Watts began to close the window when he saw the cause.

“Perhaps there's a fire outs … _oh_ , _**CHRIST!**_ ”

The sight that had greeted the bent accountant as he opened the bedroom curtains never left his memory. A crucifix had been set up, hidden from the road by the giant sycamore tree in his front yard, and it was currently ablaze. He could clearly see Tyrian's mangled corpse nailed onto the cross in six places – two on each arm, one nailing his scalp down, and the last where his groin used to be.

While Dr. Watts began the process of fainting cold on his floor, Sun and Velvet woke up about half an hour before the planned changing of the guard.

“So … did you get _anything_ after I finished looking out?”, Velvet enquired hesitantly as she slipped her boots back on.

“No, but it's best if we let Scarlet and Sage have a shot before calling it quits, Velv,” Sun replied as he righted himself.

Suddenly, the police radio flared up, and the youthful tones of their dispatcher came through.

“DI Wukong, are you awake?”

Sun sat bolt upright in his seat before answering.

“Wide awake, Pine. What's happened?”

A sigh filtered through.

“You are _not_ going to believe what's happened. A man has been found nailed to a burning crucifix in Haven Lane.”

The pair of detectives exchanged shocked expressions for an agonising second, before Sun fired the Taurus up.

“We're on our way. Get the rest of Rosewood there as well.”

Within minutes, the team had arrived at the front yard of Dr. Watts. While Velvet retched into a convenient bin and Sun began coordinating his team, Roman had turned on his television and found himself staring at the crime scene in question.

“Detectives are already examining the crime scene behind me,” Lisa Lavender reported, “and I was informed by the lead officer that this will be treated with the utmost care and delicacy. It's understood that the body was found at the residence of Dr. Arthur Watts, a local accountant whom owns a share in the ruined Amity restaurant. More details will surely come in the following weeks. This is Lisa Lavender, the Vale, Sydney. Back to you, Cyril.”

* * *

As Lisa Lavender departed the scene, Sun exhaled in relief and started talking to his team.

“Except for Sage and Scarlet monitoring the Torchwick estate today, this death takes precedence over all other activities.”

“Just quickly sir,” Yatushashi piped up, “but I took the liberty of searching for that waitress doing a job trial. Turns out Olive Ettenblau is a false name.”

Sun facepalmed angrily at this. “Because _of course_ it is. With the Amity burned and Watts finding a crucified, burning man on his lawn, I'd be willing to bet good money that these two crimes are linked.”

“Wait a second,” Velvet interjected. “The other two seriously weird crimes we dealt with all involved people getting burned to death. What if _all four_ are linked somehow?”

The rest of Operation Rosewood gave this some thought. Finally, their leader began to respond.

“Velvet, even though the evidence is circumstantial, I have the strangest feeling that you're right. Still, we'll need to treat them as separate incidents officially, but I'd suggest that you write that on the whiteboard when we get back. Anyway, the only lead we have on either of these crimes is Torchwick and Watts.

“Sage and Scarlet, you two will be on stakeout as planned today. See if our target does something unusual. Velvet and Coco, I'll get you two to interview Watts and keep an eye on his house in case of further threats.

“Fox and Yatsuhashi, you will go over the medical evidence with Dr. Polendina when she gets here. Neptune, you're with me. We'll start sniffing around about the true identity of this 'Olive Ettenblau', and circulate her description. Let's get to work!”

And so they did. Watts, against his instincts, decided to let DS Scarlatina and DC Adel watch out for further reprisals. Sage and Scarlet saw Roman looking rather pale and nauseous, while the evidence collated by Fox and Yatsuhashi would prove to lack any trace of DNA – confirming Velvet's suspicions about the crimes being linked.

But alas – any hope the team had had about finding the perpetrators was dashed when no-one matching the description of the missing waitress stood out to them. The fact that “Olive” had worn a blonde wig and brown contact lenses that night likely had something to do with Rosewood's lack of success on that front.

* * *

At four that same afternoon, Cinder was finishing up a letter when her phone started to blare.

“Arc and Partners Head Office, how can I help you?”

“Thor to Hel, do you confirm?”

Cinder's back straightened as her demeanour changed.

“I confirm. What's up?”

“Your presence, as well as Loki's, is required at Frey's safe house at six this evening.”

Cinder nodded.

“Certainly. Is there anything else to discuss?”

“Well, asides from the mark getting crossed, there's nothing else to report. Thor out.”

Placing the phone down, Cinder finished the letter before walking firmly into her boss's office.

“You got a moment sir?”

“Absolutely, Cindy. Finish that letter did you?”

“Indeed, I have it here.”

While handing it to him, Cinder whispered her next sentence.

“Frey wants us at her safe house at six this evening.”

* * *

When Cinder and Jaune made their way down Kuchinashi Avenue at ten to six, Neptune and Coco entered the Buckley pub on their way back to Neptune's apartment. Coco whirled towards her date and spoke lowly as she approached the bar.

“Is it me, or does _something_ in the air just give you the creeps?”

Neptune kept his stentorian voice in check as he responded.

“No, I'm feeling it too. We may as well throw back a drink and then leave.”

Coco nodded mutely, and they ordered their beers. As the bartender handed them a glass each of VB, a drunk business type approached them. His grey suit was impeccable despite the pub's lack of class, and his demeanour made Neptune's knuckles go white and Coco get the urge to kick him in the nuts. His voice, when it came, was slurred and yet intelligible.

“Do you two want a job?”

 _OK_ , Coco thought, _ that's _ _a new one_. Externally, she responded with “No thank you; we're both cops.”

Much to Coco's surprise, this only served to give the suit more confidence. “That's actually a good thing. See, the guy I do legal work for is looking for enforcers for some development thing -”

At this point, a dark-skinned lady in a mint-coloured pant suit clasped her hand around his mouth and dragged him away from the duo.

“Pay my idiot no mind,” she said apologetically as she left, “he's got an awful tendency to spout off bullshit whenever he's been at the bottle.”

Coco let off a light chuckle.

“Sounds right enough. Take care.”

After the pair left, Coco and Neptune exchanged frowns. They'd need to follow up on this one. They both turned their gazes towards the bartender.

“Are they regulars around here?”, Coco asked.

The man nodded.

“Well, the man is. I only have his first name, though – it's Mercury.”

Coco nodded understandingly.

“Alright then. Thanks for the beer.”

She placed her empty glass down and briskly marched out with Neptune in tow.

* * *

When Cinder and Jaune arrived at the dealership a minute after Neptune started shagging Coco, Cinder spied a remarkable sight. Standing there in the middle of the yard was a Volvo 340. It had been painted an interesting shade of vermillion, and had brand new licence plates.

And as Cinder gratefully accepted the keys from Pyrrha, a look was shared between Jaune and Yang that spelled out why Cinder received this car under the table. The fact that Cinder's favourite colour was vermillion was a coincidental bonus, and most of the lower-ranked Bellas initially had red paint jobs on their cars. And of course, different number plates.

The next day, Cinder had just started to take lunch with her back to the door when she was tapped on the shoulder.

“Excuse me.”

She turned and beheld Mayor Lionheart, standing uncertainly in front of her desk.

“What do you need from me, mister Mayor?”, she asked politely.

“I need to leak something to the press, and would like legal advice from your firm.”

Cinder's eyes didn't give away her internal elation at this news, and her voice was similarly even.

“But of course, Mayor Lionheart. What are you intending to leak to the wider world?”

“I'd sit down to hear it if I were you,” Lionheart replied as he pulled up a chair. “This is … kind of explosive.”

* * *

**A/N: Sorry if the chapter seems a bit rushed. I was so bloody busy this month that I only managed to write this in the last few days.**

**On a positive note, my first album "Mantras For Modern Times" is live on iTunes, Google Play and Amazon. Feel free to buy it if you wish.**

**Anyhow, I'm not going to upload a chapter on New Year's Day, but I'll see if I can upload two at the start of February.  
**

**I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Feel free to drop a comment, favourite the story and so on.**


	12. Ides of April

### Chapter Twelve: Ides Of April

At four that afternoon, Ilia Amitola was shown into a room within the Arc and Partners Head Office, with Mayor Leo Lionheart seated behind a table with a bunch of files spread in front of him. Leading her into what was dubbed “the consultation room”, Cinder shut the door behind her guest and locked it, before hitting the record button on the on-site tape machine. This was routinely used by the staff for arranging their cases and affidavits, and served this time to capture Lionheart's dialogue for Ilia's benefit.

“So,” Ilia started, “I understand that you're here to report some dubious plan for the Vale's future?”

“ _Potential_ dubious plan, yes. Currently, there is a development application in front of the council that has proven to be problematic …”

While Lionheart started to spill the beans to Ilia, Velvet and Ruby were meeting up as scheduled at Weiss's cafe.

“Zwei's settled in nicely, by the way,” Ruby said after sitting down.

“Great to hear!”, Velvet responded. “By the way, how's your uncle holding up?”

“He's recovered completely, thank the gods. The doctors said he was lucky nothing important got hit.”

Velvet sighed in clear relief.

“That's good to know.”

“Yeah, it is. The bastard never got caught, did he?”

Velvet looked upwards as she tried to remember.

“As far as I know, he's evaded detection. At least, that's what the serious crimes squad were saying a few days back at the pub.”

Ruby looked curious at this.

“Really? That must be inconvenient.”

Velvet rolled her eyes. “Like you wouldn't believe.”

Ruby let out a small chuckle.

“I'm sure. So … how's life in law enforcement working out for you?”

* * *

Velvet looked rather ashen-faced at this.

“Well … it could be better. Just yesterday, I was amongst the officers who had to deal with that crucifixion in Haven Lane. Awful business, that.”

Ruby nodded with an expression of understanding; even though she'd never feel remorse for Tyrian's fate, she felt a decided amount of sympathy for her old hairdresser. After all, the Bellas had striven to hide their crimes as best as they could over the years, so to make someone as decent and gentle-hearted as Velvet go through the wringer like that was a consequence Ruby sorely wanted to avoid from now on.

“You're not wrong there, Velvet. Law enforcement isn't glamorous by any means. Still, are you getting on with your colleagues?”

Velvet perked up at that.

“Well, I already have a friend within the station; she was the one who'd suggested I join up, after all. The top brass are kind enough, and my co-workers are amiable and professional. I'm also trying to pass my sergeant's exams as well, because that corruption business means that my superior needs a sergeant to replace him.”

Ruby cocked both of her eyebrows at this.

“Well _that_ didn't take very long. Did you bonk him?”

Velvet's eyes ballooned to comical proportions as she spat out a mouthful of Boston Cooler.

“Of – of _course_ not! Though I did catch him bonking some creepy woman at his house.”

Ruby leaned in over her Black Forest spider.

“How did that come about?”

“He'd forgotten to send in a request to stake out some place, making me stay behind and do it. I was pissed and made it to his place, only to hear the noise and hide. After she left, I knocked on the door. He blearily asked _me_ if I was up for round two, so I punched him in the testicles.”

Ruby blew a mouthful of her spider out of her nose, she was laughing that hard.

* * *

At the stroke of five that afternoon, Ilia's expression was an even blend of shock, revulsion and amazement.

“What a brazen bastard! I'll see to it that this Torchwick fellow won't lay a finger on the Vale. And before you ask, I didn't hear any of this from you.”

Lionheart visibly exhaled in relief.

“I'm grateful beyond words for your help, Ilia. Same goes for you, Miss Fall.”

Cinder smiled demurely as she stopped the machine and handed the tape to Ilia.

“It's my pleasure, Mayor Lionheart.”

After Cinder departed her work mere minutes after Mayor Lionheart and Ilia Amitola, she missed someone walking out of the office while she drove by in her new Volvo. By cruel circumstance, Dr. Watts had planned to meet with Mercury to arrange a lawsuit against Real Steals On Wheels when he heard the familiar roar of Tyrian's Volvo.

Turning his head, he'd found himself staring at the woman who'd approached him for auditing Mercury's firm, driving it calmly towards Shade Grove. _Wait a second_ , he realised, _Tyrian's car_ _ must've _ _been_ _seized by the Steals on Wheels freaks, and they know Mr Arc's secretary._ At this point, Mercury walked out and quickly made his way over to Dr. Watts.

“What's up, Doc?”

“That car Mr Arc's secretary was driving … where did she get it from?”

“Real Steals on Wheels, I think. How come?”

“That sounded and looked like Tyrian's Volvo. I'm wondering how they got their hands on it and repainted it red.”

The young lawyer looked pensive for a moment, then his eyes lit up in surprised alarm.

“There is one possibility.”

* * *

“What possibility is that?”

“As you know, I grew up near Steals and Wheels, and that meant I always looked at the cars they had on sale there. Their usual modus operandi involves doing up and selling used cars, along selling new ones. The thing is, they'd usually keep or patch up the paint jobs the cars have … except in certain cases.”

Watts's expression switched from neutral to curious.

“How do you mean, _certain cases?_ ”

“Well,” the lawyer replied uneasily, “there was always a used car in their stock that had been given a red paint job. I used to think that the cars they painted were so rusted over that they required a new paint job … until they started offering custom paint jobs two years ago. Now, you'd think that they'd be able to give different colours with their rusted over cars. But they haven't; the colour of choice is still red.”

“So what?”, Watts retorted. “It would be more economical to use the one paint than to constantly use custom paints. How come this factoid has got you like you've seen a ghost?”

“Last year, they had an expensive-looking one of them in their yard the day after the head of a biker gang went missing.”

While Dr. Watts maintained his composure, a large cloister bell rang within the accountant's mind as the pieces came together. _The Steals and Wheels people, the secretary to the law firm … they're all in the employ of that bloody Belladonna woman! THEY'RE THE MAFIA WE'RE FIGHTING!_ Externally, however, Watts responded as calmly as he could manage.

“I see. Do tell Roman that I'll be staying with him tonight, will you?”

Mercury looked weirded out, but nodded eventually.

“Very well. Are we still going to sue the Steals on Wheels place?”

Watts nodded hurriedly as he began to move.

“Give me a week to collate my evidence, and then we'll hit them with it. I'll see you later, Mercury.”

Twenty minutes later, Mercury had discovered that the police were onto him about blowing Roman's plans the same morning. This occurred when he drove into Alsius Crescent and found Operation Rosewood searching his house. Driving past them as casually as possible, Mercury made a beeline for the safest place he knew at this point; Roman's compound.

While this happened, Jaune was psyching himself up for what was to be the biggest moment of his life so far. Finally, a series of knocks brought his adrenaline to fever pitch, and Jaune opened the door. Cinder was standing a step behind the threshold with a bouquet of peonies and red roses, and she was pretending not to notice the ring he had secreted in his left hand.

Suddenly, four sharp “pews” of sound came from the stairwell, and bullets pierced her thigh and breast once, then her cranium twice. As she dropped and Jaune ran forward, the gunman ran for it, having the foresight to buy a pushbike and avoid detection through using a motor. Jaune held a rapidly-dying Cinder in his arms, while slipping the ring on her finger and crying.

“Jaune,” Cinder breathed, “I … love you … please avenge me.”

“I will,” Jaune said with a tearful smile.

Cinder smiled back, then used her last ounce of strength to kiss him. As he returned it, her eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped in his grasp.

The sound that escaped Jaune's lips was too loud and primal to be called a scream. After all, Dr. Watts heard it half a block away as he chanced upon Mercury's car with the pistol inside his jacket. But little did either man know how far the tapestry was going to unravel, as well as how hard the whole thing was going to hit them.

* * *

The Vale was in considerable disarray on the morning of the 9th of April. The Daily Telegraph's headline and sub-headline that morning respectively read “Conniving Developers Descend Onto The Vale”, and “Cold-Hearted Shooting, Suspect At Large”. After Mercury had drunkenly blown their cover, he had stayed overnight at Roman's house after the shooting with Watts and Emerald. The last of these was planning to flee to Roman's shack near Menagerie Street before long.

However, one look at the headlines was enough to make Roman jump ship as well, but not before giving Watts and Mercury a blast for what they'd done. With Emerald electing to hide herself and Mercury within her flat, neither her nor Roman hesitated in setting Neo Politana free. The way they saw it, setting her loose might spare their sorry hides from whatever form of vengeance that Watts and Mercury had incurred onto themselves.

Neo herself was surprised as she awoke that morning, quickly finding that her bonds were broken and Emerald's note at the top of the staircase explaining the situation. Feeling invigorated, Neo ran straight up to the top floor, finding a working phone, then decided to call the one person she'd needed to apologise to. Ruby was presently waking up from a late night when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Frigga to Ullr, do you confirm?”

A chill went straight up Ruby's spine. “I – I do confirm. Where are you?”

“Freed from Torchwick's captivity. I figured I'd ask you to pick me up at the gate of his mansion; there's a ton of things I've got to tell Blake about him and his minions. But first, do you guys know what caused them to leave so abruptly?”

Ruby had done her best to forget the panicked phone call Jaune had sent through, but utterly failed. He'd simply said “Hel has come to Valhalla. Pass it on.” Ruby had done the rest, and convened a meeting at Blake's house.

“I'm afraid so. I'll pick you up from his place, then bring you to the pending Bellas meeting at Blake's house. Ullr out.”

At ten that morning, a ragged assembly piled into Blake's war room. Blake was visibly bursting at the seams with guilt, having recruited Cinder into this business. Pyrrha and Yang were trying their level best to keep spirits up, while Weiss's gait suggested she was pushing _her_ spirits down her mouth. Nora's face lacked the usual verve that it usually harboured, while Ren's impassive face belied the barest hint of shock in his eyes.

Ruby and Neo walked in just after they did, with the former teary-eyed and the latter looking incredibly nervous. As they all sat down, a grieving Jaune limped into the room. The rest of the Bellas leadership weren't faring much better than he was, but all of them were taken aback at how hollow their consigliere looked on this miserable autumn morning.

* * *

“Now we're all here,” Blake began, “I've got two things to address. The first is what now.”

The other leaders exchanged confused glances, but couldn't ask anything before their boss cut them off.

“By which I mean avenging Cinder for her actions.”

Jaune began to tear up at this point. “I – I was about to propose to her,” he muttered to himself. Only Ruby and Blake caught what he'd said, and decided to leave him to his grief.

“Now, going by what Ilia Amitola wrote about this morning, it's clear someone on the Vale's council blabbed about Roman's plans. No doubt the police are onto him already, so you can expect that the arsehole's laying low.”

“It was Lionheart,” Jaune muttered.

“What was that, Jaune?”, Blake asked politely.

Jaune's response was abrupt and tear-stained.

“I _said_ , it was Lionheart who spilled the beans. He did it in behind locked doors with Ilia and Cinder just yesterday.”

The rest of the leaders stared at him, jaws agape at the revelation. Finally, Blake spoke up.

“Well, if Mercury Black was there, he must've told the gunman to kill her in a stupid attempt to prevent the leak of information.”

“If that happened,” Pyrrha interjected, “then who shot Cinder that night?”

A moment's pause followed, then Ruby spoke up.

“Well, what about the accountant that tried to burn Blake's restaurant down? I mean, we did screw him out of a car and blow up _his_ restaurant.”

An expression rarely seen on the face of Blake Belladonna made itself manifest on this day; regret. It was quickly replaced by decisiveness as an idea took hold.

“That's the best lead we have, I guess. We'll start by taking him out – Yang, I'll leave that to you and Pyrrha. Mercury will need to be whacked as well; Ren, I'll get you to do that. As for Roman himself, Ruby shall bring him down.”

Everyone nodded in assent to their leader's plans.

“What about the second thing to be addressed?”, Ruby asked politely.

“Oh that!” Blake responded. “When this is all over, bring every member of the gang back here for a gang-wide announcement.”

* * *

The following night, Watts was reading a book when he realised something important. Namely, he'd forgotten his emergency cash stash within his office.

“Dammit,” he muttered.

Looking over his shoulder, he noticed Roman shivering in front of the fireplace. Whether it was his anxiety or the temperature, he couldn't tell.

“I need to head back to my offices for a moment.”

Roman looked startled at this.

“A–are you sure that's wise?”

Watts held his hands up reassuringly. “It's no big deal. You said we'd need enough funds to escape Sydney, and I've got more than that within the stash. I'll be back by sunrise tomorrow morning.”

Roman nodded quickly; his voice, when it came, sounded hoarse.

“Very well. Just be safe.”

Watts nodded curtly, then left the shack. Piling onto Roman's scooter, Watts drove carefully up Menagerie Street, then turned left onto Signal Circle. As he neared the corner of Haven Lane, he felt the dread in the air around the Vale that night. However, remorse was the one emotion that Watts lacked, so he took the chance to revel in his handiwork. Finally, his offices loomed over him in the midnight hour. Parking the scooter out the front and leaving the saddlebags open, the bent accountant decided to check the exterior for any nasty surprises . Failing to see anything in the non-existent light, he approached the door and unlocked his premises.

Watts walked inside, then unwillingly jumped four metres in the air. This was due to the fact that his offices were in the process of getting pulverised. From a vantage point across the street, a tired and cranky Yang placed the switch controls behind her seat, then pulled her Astra into gear. In a rare display of control, the firecracker drove off as quietly as she could manage, with Gwen, Octavia and Nolan in tow. Within the boot of the car lay two things. The first was the two thousand in cash Watts was trying to retrieve, now claimed for the service of the Bellas. The second item was something that would prove to be even more useful for her – an address book.

“This is only the _start_ ,” Yang icily stated to her colleagues as she approached her home street. “I dare say it's _high time_ for the fall of the Roman Empire.”

* * *

**A/N: Well, I'm back. Apologies for the short chapter; I got caught up with Christmas stuff, then WOW: Legion invaded my life as well.**

**Volume 5 was incredible, and quite a step up from Volume 4. Weiss's battle scene in "Dread In The Air" was probably the best battle for my tastes - well, asides from the Maidenbowl. Kudos to the CRWBY for managing to make the #1 trending spot on YouTube for the finale.**

**And I must say, Cinder's death scene was released at the right time.**

**Until next time.**


	13. Fall Of The Roman Empire

### Chapter Thirteen: Fall Of The Roman Empire

Pulling up at Blake's house at ten that night, Yang ushered her cohorts inside with the equipment. While Nolan rested on the couch and the other two women walked upstairs, Yang strode into the kitchen with her haul, where Blake was waiting with Ren and his crew.

“Watts has gone to Nifflheim,” Yang uttered lowly.

A faint half-smile appeared on top of Blake's otherwise inscrutable face.

“Good to know, Yang. Anything else I should be made aware of?”

“I managed to snag about two grand in cash, along with the addresses of the other conspiracy members.”

Blake smiled nastily.

“Excellent, Yang. If you don't mind, I'll use the book to inform Ren and Ruby about the whereabouts of their marks.”

Yang nodded in compliance while she handed over her gains to Blake, who promptly walked over to her phone and rung up Ruby, consulting the addresses within while the connection was made.

“Hello?”

“Odin to Ullr. Do you confirm?”

“Yes, I confirm? Has the cash gone?”

“Indeed. And we found the location of the hat; he's hiding in a small cage at the deep end of the abandoned zoo down south.”

Ruby understood the coded language; Roman had a shack at the southern tip of Menagerie Street, which had become an ill-omened retirement home for white-goods industries and their staff since the massacre.

“Well then, I take it you also know where the suit's at?”

“According to Frey, the suit likely lies with the dress.”

 _Emerald the thief is sheltering him_ , Ruby realised.

“Understood, Odin. I take it that Tyr's retrieving the suit and the dress for our party?”

“Correct, Ullr. Will you be able to fetch the hat by yourself?”

There was silence for a second, then a reply.

“You bloody bet I can, Odin. Ullr out.”

After placing the phone in its cradle, Blake gave the address book to Ren.

“Tomorrow, you are to prevent the police from catching Mercury Black through any means necessary. Pyrrha's crew told me earlier today that the police raided his home on Alsius Crescent, so I'd suggest starting your search at this flat at the northwest corner of Beacon Street; it's where the thief on Torchwick's books happens to live.”

Ren stroked his chin thoughtfully at this.

“Killing the pair of them will be difficult as is, but killing them in that apartment would cause alarm amongst the rest of the residents.” Blake nodded empathetically.

“I know. You and your boys have free rein to do what you like with them.”

A rare, vicious smile emerged from an impassive face.

“Understood. We'll make them disappear. However, I'll need to call Loki and Heimdall for a moment.”

* * *

Meanwhile, Mercury and Emerald were doing their best to hide within Emerald's flat. Having fled with a duffel bag of food and clothes, Mercury was doing his best to stay sane whilst his house lay abandoned and his pet cats went astray. He'd spent the night drafting ideas for him and Emerald to get out of Sydney with their funds. The most likely option was fetching Mercury's cash and belongings at the office, hitching a lift to the airport, then taking a domestic flight to Hobart.

Emerald, meanwhile, was doing her best to stay sane in the midst of the chaos. After the clock struck ten, Mercury went to sleep in the apartment's only bed. Unfortunately for him, it was _Emerald's_ bed, and she barged in to coax him out a minute later. What confronted her vision next caused her to stop. Mercury was removing a pair of metal braces from his polio-withered legs, and quickly reached for the covers to hide them when he noticed her presence.

“ _You_ _ **didn't**_ _see anything!_ ”, he growled defensively.

Emerald was taken aback at the revelation, and looked shocked as Mercury's temper flared. _It's likely a defensive mechanism_ , she realised quickly. _He's way too insecure about his legs, so he shrouds it in arrogance and smarminess._ Despite herself, Emerald actually felt sorry about the lawyer's situation, and responded accordingly.

“Mercury, I … I'm so sorry for barging in. I didn't know you needed the bed so desperately.”

Mercury sighed quietly, instantly expelling his rage from his psyche.

“I'm sorry for lashing out like that. I'm not terribly proud about needing these wretched braces to walk.”

Emerald nodded somberly, opting to reveal her reasons for apology.

“Neither was my mother, to be honest. She was single as well as polio-stricken. That more or less meant I had to steal to keep us fed until Roman found me.”

Now it was Mercury's turn to be taken aback.

“Really?!”, he gasped. “I'd never have guessed.”

Emerald sighed with great melancholy, and sat at the edge of the bed.

“But enough of that. I'd be willing to share the bed with you, if nothing else.”

“That's fine by me,” Mercury responded with a kinder smile than usual.

After Emerald removed her shoes, she turned suddenly. Mercury instantly saw hesitance in her silence and uncertainty in her gaze.

“Is there something wrong, Em?”

Emerald jolted, then sheepishly responded to her guest's query.

“Well … the last few times I've shared a bed with strangers, it … usually results in sex or something close to it. I just want to know what you'll do with me this time.”

Mercury's response was laden with an uncharacteristic timbre; tenderness.

“Whether you want to do anything with me is up to you, and I won't force an answer. But I won't abandon you once we get to Hobart; that I swear.”

After a moment's thought, Emerald gave her response. She unzipped her dress in one fluid motion and clambered into the bed.

* * *

As Mercury came to on the morning of the 12th , he felt a degree of comfort after bedding Emerald the previous evening. Emerald was already up, getting dressed in her exercise gear.

“Are you heading to get the cash and so on at my desk?”, Mercury asked tremulously.

“Yep. Figured I'd give you enough time to get yourself together before we go to the airport.”

“Okay,” the lawyer replied. “I'll get some more sleep, then I'll take a taxi to the law firm and meet you there.”

Emerald nodded, before Mercury kissed her forehead.

“Stay safe, Em.”

Emerald returned the kiss, and strode out in confidence. Mercury organised his clothes on the unoccupied side of the bed, before removing his braces and heading back to the bed.

Emerald made good time on her bicycle, arriving fifteen minutes later at Atlas Terrace. She continued to make her way towards the Arc and Partners Law Firm, only to find that it was closed for professional cleaning.

“Heh, no matter,” Emerald muttered. “I'll just get in the back and wait until they bugger off.”

Traipsing past the dumpsters and down the side alley, she found a good entrance spot; the open window into what appeared to be the toilets. _I'll wait until they've cleaned it_ , the thief reasoned, _then I'll sneak in and retrieve Mercury's items_. No sooner had she formed that plan than her luck ran out; Sky Lark jumped out of the window with a pair of silenced Beretta 92's in hand. Emerald moved backwards with hands raised, going past the dumpsters until a hand stopped her. Shaking with fear, Emerald turned to face a smiling Lie Ren.

“What is your business here?”, he enquired gently.

“Nothing to do with the building, sir,” Emerald quickly replied. “I was just searching for a passage to the street between Atlas Terrace and Signal Circle.”

“Shion Lane?”

“Yes; I was headed for a job interview there and needed a shortcut, on account of being late.”

 _Had Emerald been anyone else_ , Ren observed dispassionately, _I would've ushered her there personally as a favour_.

“I tell you what. Why don't I give you a lift there? It'd save you from futilely searching for a back alley to use.”

The colour returned slightly to Emerald's face, along with a nervous smile.

“Thanks, I guess. Could you ask that guy to put away his weapons?”

“Ah yes, I can do that. Holster them, mate.”

Sky reluctantly did so, while Ren lead his victim towards a white van.

“My apologies. We got attacked by drunk thugs last time we worked in these parts, so we like to be a bit more prepared than the usual cleaners.”

Emerald nodded understandingly as Ren lead her into the passenger seat, then walked around the rear of the van. While Ren rounded to the rear right corner, Emerald Sustrai was pulled backwards off of her chair by Cardin Winchester and knocked out. He duct-taped her mouth, legs and arms together while Ren fired up the van and left.

When Emerald came to, she was taped to a wooden post that sat atop a pyre which _reeked_ of petrol. Looking up, she saw Cardin and Ren standing with disposable gloves on. Cardin held a couple of torches, while Ren took a Polaroid of the setup. After shaking the image and placing it and the camera into his car, Ren retrieved a lighter from his pocket and lit both torches. Without a word, Cardin handed the torch in his left hand to Ren, and both threw them onto the pyre.

Emerald screamed into her gag for the rest of her life as the pyre was set ablaze. The wooden post she was tied to caught fire quickly, and the flames promptly spread to her leg warmers. By the time her hair and chest caught fire, Ren and Cardin had made it back to the van and drove away from the disused quarry, making sure to wash their hands before picking up lunch at the Vytal.

Over the course of the next three hours, Emerald Sustrai melted into the wood. And when the paramedics tried to move her corpse that afternoon, her skin and muscles slid off her skeleton and created a revolting paste on the ashes. The sight and resultant smell caused Penny Polendina to throw up, and subsequently consider a different line of work.

* * *

Not ten minutes after Emerald had departed, the door to the flat was bombarded with knocking, and Mercury responded with a loud shout.

“It's open, Emerald. Don't hit yourself on the way in!”

The door opened slowly; a dead giveaway that Emerald wasn't there – and wouldn't ever _be_ there again.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Mercury whispered as he hid beneath the bed.

From his hiding spot, the lawyer saw three figures. One of them was a tanned, auburn-haired woman who'd adorned herself with a burgundy dress and matching leather boots, whilst the other two were your regulation gay couple; one had a green mohawk with a leather vest and chaps, whilst the other one had a blonde bowl cut and wore a tweed suit. Curiously, all three had put on disposable gloves.

There was an eerie silence, before the bowl cut man flipped the bed over without assistance or warning. Mercury, who was half-naked at the time, was stunned into silence, before the redhead spoke.

“Mercury Black, I presume?”

Mercury struggled to get up, but the redhead pinned him to the ground.

“ _Fuck you_. You'd _willingly_ prevent a polio-stricken man from getting up?!”

Pyrrha glanced at his legs, then steeled herself and bored her eyes into his.

“And you'd be willing to turn your homeland into a gentrified wasteland. We'll call it even, once we've finished playing with your leg-braces.”

Without any further prompting, Russel and Dove began to fence with them, much to Mercury's ire.

“Can you please give my leg-braces back to me? I need those to walk properly, you arseholes!”.

Without a word, Russel and Dove gave the braces to Mercury – by bashing him up with them.

“I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO HIT ME WITH THEM!”, Mercury loudly protested.

Russel and Dove had heard enough. Russel held Mercury down while Dove taped his mouth shut with duct tape; the pair of hitmen then aimed the two braces at opposing sides of the lawyer's head, and let loose in a grisly display. When they were done, the head had been squeezed like a zit, with blood bursting from the mouth and nose in abundance. Before Pyrrha wrapped the body in the linen sheet beneath it, the pair of whackers skewered their victim end to end with the braces.

Finally, Pyrrha transported the wrapped up body to the incinerator that took pride of place at the back of her mother's house. Given that she was house-sitting while her mother visited an aunt in Rockhampton, she knew no-one would ask questions if she came to the back fence with a garbage bag that needed incinerating.

* * *

At four in the morning on the 13th , Ruby was at her post spying on Roman's shack, having feigned a fainting spell to the school she worked at for the sake of completing this job. Once his police scanner had revealed the death of Watts, Roman had been smart enough to flee the shack before Ruby had the chance to set up shop in a vacant tenement opposite the place.

He'd gone back to his mansion and liberated his cigars, liquor and all of his free cash. It would be enough to get him a train ticket to Melbourne, the city of his birth, and a month's rent in some hotel before he got back on his feet.

However, as he pulled into the shack's driveway, he noticed straight away that there was a sniper watching his movements. After all, Ruby had just taken out the back tires of his Mulsanne. Clutching the briefcase for dear life, Roman opened the back door on the right side of his car followed by the driver's door. He sprinted into the house, narrowly avoiding a headshot while he jumped through a window he'd left open. Keeping low as he moved, Roman fetched the rest of his cash and stuffed it in the briefcase, along with a few doggy bags of ice that Taurus had given him.

Closing the briefcase, Roman heard footsteps on the opposite side of the street. Knowing that time was of the essence, he cantered into the room on the eastern side of the shack. From there, he opened a trap door, which led to a tunnel that he could stand upright in. _If I can escape the tunnel and run to the A1, I could hitch a lift from someone to the train station in the city._ As the trap door shut with Roman halfway through the tunnel, Ruby barged her way into the shack. It took half a minute of searching for Ruby to realise that Torchwick had escaped.

“God. Fucking. DAMMIT!”, Ruby shouted angrily.

However, it was at that precise moment that her military training kicked in.

“Okay, let's think … I would've spotted his escape if he'd tried to exit conventionally. There _must_ be an emergency escape here, and it would lead towards the side I had the least sight of – the eastern side.”

When Ruby next sighted Roman, the latter had just escaped the treeline that bordered the Vale. Between here and the trees around the A1, there was quite a massive clearing. Roman managed to get halfway between the treelines when the first pot-shot landed two metres to his left. Starting to panic, he began to weave his way towards the treeline as Ruby took aim from higher ground. The second bullet missed his right hand by a _whisker_ , causing him to fold his arms and run at full steam. However, the third bullet struck true, nailing him in the left ankle. Roman staggered, merely twenty-five metres from the treeline that separated him from the A1. He only managed five more before his right knee was shot into pieces. He fell down with a yelp, and began crawling towards the tree line, desperate to escape the Vale for good.

But it was not to be. Ruby, having started to run when Roman staggered, caught up with him when he was two metres from the treeline. She kicked him over, and pinned him to the ground with her right foot. For the first time in this whole fiasco, Roman looked absolutely terrified.

“W – what _are_ you people? Can't you just lay down and accept change in this shit-heap of a town?”

The reply was a whisper.

“ _No._ You and yours have shit where the Bellas eat, and we're fed up with it. And now, it's time to say goodbye.”

Ruby drew Crescent Rose and blew Roman's brains out with a pair of shots between the eyes. Ruby then donned disposable gloves, placed his head inside a garbage bag and dragged him back towards the shack.

* * *

By the time Ruby returned, the sun was starting to pierce the treeline, and Weiss emerged from the shack with her gloves and hairnet on. Ruby looked at her with not a small level of astonishment.

“What are you _doing_ here, Weiss?!”

Weiss took a drag from her cigarette, then responded.

“Well, Blake had an idea. Pyrrha ended up finding a ton of hydroponic equipment when we found Emerald's flat, and she came up with a way of removing Torchwick without arousing suspicion – namely, setting the thing to blow up, with his corpse inside.”

Ruby's confused annoyance promptly subsided, relieved by sheer bliss.

“Weiss, that's a huge load off of my back. We'll light this sucker up.”

Weiss smirked.

“I already have; place his body in the bed within five minutes, and we'll be home when the place goes up.”

Ruby groaned in frustration as she bent to drag him up again, with Weiss picking him up by the legs.

“Let's move!”

Weiss nodded, and led Ruby into the rigged lab. Placing him upon the camp stretcher, Weiss left the door between the two rooms open and shut out all other openings when she and Ruby left. This was meant to ensure that the explosion would travel down the path of least resistance and completely erase any and all wounds Torchwick had sustained on the surface of his body. Of course, the shotgun shells placed on the bedside table weren't a bad idea either. Eight minutes and thirty seconds later, while Ruby was clinging on for dear life in Weiss's Telstar, the last vestige of Roman's empire went up in flames in what was determined by law enforcement to be an accident.

The pair made it to Blake's house just before the smoke became visible from the south-east of the Vale. As Blake opened her front door to a pair of sleep-deprived mobsters, a hitherto unknown spiritual millstone slipped from her soul. No longer was she a feared vigilante that kept her town safe through any means necessary. She was now a businesswoman, with a side-job as a wedding celebrant for all of her former mob friends. A pillar of the community she worked to the utmost to protect.

“It's finally done, my friends,” she breathed. “Have the rest of the gang come here at sundown for that announcement.”

Sure enough, the entirety of the Bellas arrived at eight-thirty that evening, piling into Blake's war room and getting handed a glass of water each.

“My friends,” Blake began, “we've finally succeeded in eradicating the Torchwick conspiracy. I must commend all of you for your herculean efforts in handling this matter. However, it has not been without hardship and loss, and I'd like to take the opportunity to recognise Cinder Fall's vital role in revealing the scheme and exposing Torchwick to the public eye.

“Now, when Ren was working at the Atlas Terrace station a few days back, he discovered that a task force had been formed to investigate every unusual occurrence within the Vale's boundaries. Consequently, we'll likely find ourselves under a level of scrutiny that wouldn't be conducive to our efforts here.”

At this point, Blake took a draught of water, then continued her spiel.

“So, after much soul-searching and reflection, I have decided to disband the Bellas as a criminal organisation.”

A deathly, pallid silence filled the room, as the shock of Blake's proposal seeped in to her employees. Finally, Ruby spoke up.

“What if someone like Torchwick tries this again?”

Blake unleashed her trademark smile and steered her gaze towards the group at large.

“Because now, the Vale will forever be on the lookout for people like him. The task force will likely be equipped to deal with any future threats like this. The council, the press and the wider community all know about his designs on the Vale, thanks to Cinder's last hurrah. They will see the fate that befell him and be warned against making the same choices he made. And if we step away from the violent life and embrace our day jobs, every member of our community will never catch on to our efforts as the Bellas, as it has been throughout our history.”

Blake raised her glass, with the rest of the Bellas following suit, and toasted their victory.

“ _TO THE BELLAS!!_ ”

* * *

**A/N: And there we have it.**

**First off, I had a number of things in my life pile up around the start of March (starting a new job, going interstate for my cousin's wedding, etc.) that made it impossible to get the chapter out in time. I'm sorry about this getting held up.**

**Secondly, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. See you next time!**


	14. All Bad Things ...

### Chapter Fourteen: All Bad Things …

A perfect summer's morning greeted the Vale on the 7th  of December, 1990. As the sun pierced the eastern horizon, the satellite city that lay to Sydney’s south slowly roused itself from its slumber. The aegis of the Goodbellas had long since been cast aside in favour of properly trained, non-corrupted law enforcement – giving the whole area a less exciting, but calmer atmosphere than it had during the eighties. And while the Vale’s residents rose to greet the morning, the old chapel that took pride of place on the eastern end of Solitas Square stood ready for a wedding to remember.

At the stroke of eight, Blake Belladonna arrived in her black pantsuit and heels, with a purple dress shirt the only relief of colour on her person. She had come to inspect and prepare the chapel in the prelude to the wedding. Thankfully, Ren and his cleaning crew had mopped, dusted and swept the place down the previous day, before they hit the Aurora with Jaune for Ren's stag party.

“Ah, the sweet smell of third-rate detergent,” she purred snarkily.

Removing the flowers from the cardboard box she'd found this morning, Blake set out to arrange them into their holders on the altar and each of the pews within the chapel. Afterwards, she’d place white linen banners around the walls and backs of the pews, giving life to the sandstone bricks and dark brown seats. She’d follow it up by arranging the seating as per Weiss and Ren’s wants. When that was all done, she’d air out the chapel in preparation for the arrival of the guests.

Meanwhile, Weiss was waiting nervously for Pyrrha, Nora and Yang to return to Ruby's house from the airport. Ruby was busying herself with making bacon and eggs for everyone involved. Weiss herself had taken a much-needed shower after staying the preceding day picking up her dress, and was grateful that her cigarette habit got kicked hard enough to remove the stains from her teeth.

“Weiss,” Ruby called out, “do you want to have toast or drinks with your food?”

“I'll have two slices, along with plain water. Coffee would wreck my teeth at this point.”

“Fair enough,” the teacher replied. “I'll get the toast fired up in a moment.”

Weiss heard the metallic, snare-like sound that denoted the toaster's start, followed by Ruby giggling to herself.

“What's so funny, Ruby?”

“Ah, well, I've just realised something; we should've called ourselves the Goodbellas.”

Weiss unleashed a harder laugh than anything Arslan had produced at Ruby's joke; “goodfellas”, after all, was one of several words the American Mafia used to describe their members.

“Drolly observed, Ruby,” Weiss responded after regaining her regal composure. “All the same; be careful not to speak a word of it while my _honoured guests_ are here.”

“I haven't forgotten, Weiss. I'll be sure to keep everything under wraps.”

As the toaster ejected it's cargo and the kettle began to whistle, Ruby began to plate up breakfast and prepare the mugs. Once the kettle was turned off, the tell-tale purr of Pyrrha's Fairmont signalled the arrival of the rest of Weiss's bridal party. Weiss jumped out of her seat and opened the door with a bathrobe on her frame. Yang and Nora emerged from the back and retrieved two bags of luggage, while Pyrrha jumped from the driver's seat and opened the passenger door for their guest. Weiss gasped at the sight of her maid of honour, then broke into a sprint and hugged her.

“ _ **Winter!**_ ”

“I'm glad to be here, Weiss,” Major Winter Schnee responded warmly while returning the hug. “Especially today of all days.”

“How are the rest of our family?”

“Our parents are well,” Winter responded as the five women came inside, “and Whitley himself just started to work on his medical licence. They're currently having a late breakfast near the church itself.”

“That sounds reasonable; there are plenty of cafes within spitting distance of the chapel,” Weiss responded as Ruby hauled in a few plates of breakfast.

“Hopefully that won't be proven right during the wedding.”

Weiss and the rest of her bridesmaids shook the house with laughter at Ruby's joke; even Winter, who'd was referred to as _Die_ _Eiskönigin_ by her squadron and superiors alike, chuckled in response.

“Anyway,” Ruby responded as she fetched the rest of the plates, “we've got all of our dresses ready to go, and we have one for you as well, Winter.”

Winter nodded. “My thanks, Ruby. However, I did come prepared.”

“Mind if we look at what you brought with you?”

Winter nodded at her sister, then pulled the dress out of her suit carrier. All the other women in the room gasped in response, and Weiss smiled towards her sister.

“That dress will _definitely_ do. Now, let's eat breakfast before the hairdresser arrives.”

* * *

At the stroke of noon, the church was full, save for the bridal party. Blake stood tall and proud behind the altar, and Neo was doing an admirable job ushering people to their seats. The rest of Weiss’s family had migrated to Perth after the Berlin Wall came down, unaware that Weiss lived on the eastern coast, and now stood ready in the front row. Whitley and Elsa Schnee looked like sunburnt albinos due to the Australian summer, but both looked happy to be amongst the crowd. Weiss’s father stood watch in the doorway, preparing for a moment he never believed he’d ever experience after Weiss absconded from East Germany by a knife’s edge. The entirety of the Bellas stood ready, along with Qrow Branwen and a few shopkeeping neighbours that Weiss and Ren had invited to the occasion.

“Welcome all,” Blake started. “It gives me great pleasure to welcome you all today to the wedding of Lie Ren and Weiss Schnee. We shall start with the introduction of the groom’s party. I invite you all to stand up as Jaune Arc, Sky Lark, Russel Thrush, and Dove Bronzewing enter the room.”

One by one, the four sharp-dressed men exited the confession booth with heads held high and floral ties, and lined up in a neat row to Blake’s left.

“Next, we welcome the best man; Cardin Winchester.” Cardin strode out of the same booth slowly, but with the dignified bearing of a war veteran. His smile was stern, and yet fiercely proud of his groom, and he stood dutifully between Jaune and Blake.

“And last, but not least, the man of the hour himself; Lie Ren.”

Ren had never smiled as widely as he had before now, and practically strolled to his place. He stood tall and proud at the altar, and gazed at his groomsmen. Cardin, his best man, looked in the best shape he'd ever been in since Vietnam. Jaune, Dove, Russel and Sky all stood shoulder to shoulder with firm smiles plastered on their faces. All six of the men, opting for simplicity over exuberance, wore black suits and wingtips, with white dress shirts and dark green floral ties completing the look. Ren himself had a white lotus in his left lapel, which he'd been ordered to wear by his soon-to-be wife.

Suddenly, the elder Schnee poked his head in the door and nodded to Neo. She relayed the message to Blake, who got the hint as Neo and the bride’s father opened the doors. “Please remain standing as the bridal party enters. First, we have Ruby Rose.”

Ruby was the first bridesmaid to enter, being the youngest of the group. She strode carefully in her black pumps, being more used to boots than anything else. Her somewhat short dress was carmine red, and it was a perfect match for her hair, which had grown out to the shoulders during the last year and a half.

“Next, there's Pyrrha Nikos.”

Pyrrha emerged from the doorway gracefully, having adorned a vermillion dress that came an inch past her knees. In a departure from her usual ponytail, the Greek girl let her hair hang loose, reaching the small of her back. A pair of gold earrings with jade stones was the icing on the proverbial cake.

“Then we have Yang Xiao Long.”

Yang's entrance mimicked a sunrise, due in no small measure to the mechanic getting bedecked in an amber dress. Her mullet had been done away with since the Bellas disbanded; she now wore her hair past the shoulder, save for a fringe at the front of her head. Her eyes looked lilac in the lighting, with the right eyeshadow nailing her Liz Taylor impression.

“After that, we now have Nora Valkyrie.”

Nora strode in after her lover, opting for a cream-coloured, off-the-shoulder dress that bore a slit halfway down her right thigh. Her hair had grown slightly longer, and she had it neatly combed. The woman herself looked healthier too, due in no small measure to giving up weed on her birthday the previous year.

“Now we get to the maid of honour – the sister of the bride, Major Winter Schnee.”

No-one save for the bridal party had laid eyes on her before this moment, and all were stunned to see the tall, alabaster-haired beauty with sky-blue eyes enter the building. The officer's argent dress bestowed her with a regal bearing, and her smile was the perfect blend of serenity and excitement. Qrow, who'd sat in the back row, found himself drawn towards the woman like a moth to flame. Mercifully, he'd refused to show up sloshed to a wedding, and consequently denied the urge to caress her butt.

“And finally,” Blake announced, “the woman of the hour. Give a warm welcome to Weiss Schnee.”

Weiss Schnee entered the building with an eager smile, led in by her father. Both wore white, and Weiss also bore a white lotus in her veil. Her dress, meanwhile, was floor-length and immaculate, and the train wasn't as long as its namesake. Brigadier Johannes Schnee, meanwhile, simply wore a white three-piece with a sky-blue dress shirt and ivory tie. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes – which had long since adopted the thousand-yard stare – but no-one felt uncomfortable around him. As Weiss stepped to a spot on Blake's right, she began her speech.

* * *

“Friends, we have been invited here today to share with Weiss Schnee and Lie Ren a very important moment in their lives. In the years they have been together, their love and understanding of each other has grown and matured, and now they have decided to live their lives together as husband and wife. Who presents this woman to be wedded to this man?”

Johannes read his response off a cue card, still mastering English to the best of his ability.

“Her mother and I do.”

Blake nodded, then drew a breath and read her speech, in lieu of a Biblical passage and interpretation.

“Marriage is a supreme sharing, perhaps the greatest and most challenging adventure in the most intimate of human relationships. It is the joyful uniting of a man and a woman whose care and affection and understanding have flowered into a deep and abiding love. Those who take its sacred vows have their lives blended together into one, as the waters of two rivers are joined when they come together to form an even greater one.

“A true spiritual marriage is an act of metamorphosis, a profound mystery of creation and rebirth, as two become one. It is not a giving up or loss of oneself, but rather a giving over of oneself to something greater--a transformation of self in which each one can say, "I am no longer only I, but also we." It is a process in which each can be challenged to discover new possibilities in themselves and each other.

“In such a marriage, the wedding ceremony is the gateway into this mystery. For the lives the two of you have lived up until this moment are, in some sense, now truly completed and over. Together you now live within the creation of something wholly new and transcendent, something which has never existed before--your miraculous marriage-- an expression that is at once public and private, precious, sacred, and truly unique to the two of you. In this act, you open yourselves to a fuller experience and expression of the great, vast miracle of love.

“No ceremony can create your marriage. Only you can do that--through love, patience, dedication, perseverance--through talking and listening and trying to understand--through helping and supporting and believing in each other--through learning to forgive, learning to respect and appreciate your differences, and learning to make the important things matter and to let go of the rest. What this ceremony can do is to witness and affirm the choice you have made to begin a new life today as husband and wife.”

The bridal party and the groomsmen looked impressed. _That's not her usual speech_ , Pyrrha realised. _That must've taken considerable effort to write_.

“Now, do you have your rings?”

“Yes, we do,” Weiss and Ren jointly responded. Cardin took his cue, and handed the rings to their respective givers. Ren put Weiss's on her left ring finger, and she slipped his ring on the right ring finger soon afterwards.

“These rings are the symbols of the vows here taken. They mark the beginning of a long journey together, filled with wonder, surprise, laughter, tears, celebrations, grief and joy. May these rings reflect the warmth of the lives that flow through them today. Two lives are now joined in one unbroken circle. Wherever they go, may they always return to one another. May they grow in understanding and compassion. May the home that they establish be a place of peace, comfort and sanctuary.

“As I invite Weiss and Ren to make their marriage vows I remind everyone here that this is the heart of the ceremony. The vows they make before us are sincere and binding promises that are intended to keep them together for the rest of their lives.”

* * *

Blake then began to read the vows, with Ren gazing into Weiss's eyes as he followed Blake's directions. “Do you, Lie Ren, promise to love and honour Weiss, as your life’s partner, being faithful and supportive all of your days?”

 **“** I do.”

“Do you pledge this love without reserve, through sickness and health. Whether rich or poor,

forsaking all others, For as long as you both shall live?”

 **“** I do.”

 **“** Please repeat after me; with this ring, I pledge myself to you.”

“With this ring, I pledge myself to you.”

“Please wear it as the symbol of my love; bright as the sun, eternal as the seasons.”

“Please wear it as the symbol of my love; bright as the sun, eternal as the seasons.”

“As I will wear this ring always, to declare for all the world to see, my love and dedication to you.”

“As I will wear this ring always, to declare for all the world to see, my love and dedication to you.”

Blake then directed her attention to the woman she took in all those years ago. “Do you, Weiss Blanche Schnee, promise to love and honour Ren, as your life’s partner, being faithful and supportive all of your days?

 **“** I do.”

“Do you pledge this love without reserve, through sickness and health. Whether rich or poor, forsaking all others, For as long as you both shall live?”

 **“** I do.”

While Weiss repeated the vows her husband-to-be had started, Ruby felt a certain blanket of peace sweep through everyone within the place, as though their sins were being washed away by their atonement over the last year and a half. _This feels better than anything I could've ever imagined_ , she realised. _I'd never have thought this possible when I was still in the Special Forces; yet here I am, a teacher serving as a bridesmaid with my sister and our girlfriends while two of our closest friends get hitched … this is better than being a killer_.

When Weiss finished her vows, Blake smiled while her breath returned.

“Well done. Ren and Weiss, you have openly declared your wishes to be united in marriage, and in the presence of these witnesses have pledged love to each other, and have confirmed the same by joining hands, exchanging rings and declaring your vows, I as a minister and legally authorized to do pronounce that you are now husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

Ren leant into Weiss's face and gave the most passionate kiss ever beheld by anyone in that chapel's history, to rapturous applause and cheering. Even her father teared up slightly as a smile came to his face. Neo's perfectly-timed Polaroid of the kiss was the icing on the cake for the day.

* * *

After an hours-long photography session within the nature reserve and some cocktails, everyone present at the wedding repaired to the Vytal restaurant for the reception. As it's owner, Blake had spent the last month making the Italian joint as presentable as humanly possible – nothing but the best for the friends that she had. Naturally, Blake was also serving as the night's master of ceremonies, and stood ready to give the grand introduction for the evening.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Italian-Australian began, “I present to you for the first time, Mr Lie Ren and Mrs Weiss Schnee.”

The glowing couple strode in with a regal bearing, engendering an awestruck round of applause from the rest of the invited. Ren looked distinctly different without the pink-tinted glasses that he usually wore off the job; he seemed more dignified and complete now. And as for his beloved, Weiss had never looked happier in her thirty-four years of living. Her reserved and cool demeanour was nowhere in sight; her warm and engaging smile was a massive surprise to the rest of her brood, though a most welcome one.

“Before we get into the bridal dance,” Blake began, “I'd like to say a few words about Ren and Weiss. I will always remember how I first met the bride and groom; outside my house almost twelve years ago. Weiss, as we all know, made it out of East Berlin and was staying with my cousin in Sicily when I heard about her desire to come to Sydney. I offered her a place to stay, and she agreed with great eagerness and a desire to succeed in any endeavour she embarked on.

“And as for Ren, my brother Kieran served with him in Vietnam. The last two letters he sent me were filled with some of the fondest memories he ever had – including one instance where Ren saved his best man by kicking him in the balls.”

Cardin cringed playfully while the rest of the attendees got a hearty chuckle out of it.

“After the war had finished, Ren came to Australia to be with those servicemen he'd befriended in those times. He came to stay with me because of his kinship with Kieran, and we became fast friends. Little did I know then that he and Weiss, two strangers in a strange land in 1978, would be wed to one another nearly twelve years later. In hindsight, they fit each other like a glove; both bookish and quiet, yet inviting to friends and clients alike. Both learned to speak English together, and exceeded one another's expectations at this task. And most importantly, they learned all there is to know about love together.”

The audience gave a small round of applause, saving larger ones for speeches later that night.

“And now, I'd like to invite the bride and groom to begin their first dance.”

Ren took Weiss's soft and silken hand, and led her gently to the impromptu dance floor that had been cleared in preparation for the evening. Neo, who was standing next to a sound system, loaded in a CD that Weiss had given to her at the chapel and selected the track.

And as the first strains of “Miracle of Love” by Eurythmics emerged from the speakers around the restaurant, the bride and groom began to move. Everyone watched with reverence as the ex-ballet dancer lead her husband in a spellbinding display of body poetry. Even Cardin, who'd never seen merit in “arty farty” things, shed a single tear at the marriage of movement and music.

As the guitar solo kicked in, Ruby leaned into her sister's ear for a passing comment.

“Good choice of song, don't you think?”

Yang looked indecisive for a moment when she responded. “Well, I'd have used _You Shook Me All Night Long_ or _When The War Is Over_ ,” the blonde replied with Nora nodding in agreement, “but this is definitely fitting for the occasion.”

And right as the song finished, the bridal dance concluded to great applause. So enraptured in the moment, no-one noticed the lurking presence outside until the doors were suddenly thrown open with a bang. As the whole room was startled into silence, no fewer than fifty policemen swanned into the building, their weapons trained on everyone present. Detective Sergeant Velvet Scarlatina, who'd led the charge, quickly pinned Ruby to the ground with a weapon aimed at her head, and the rest of the attendees simply held their hands up in complete shock. As for Blake herself, the restaurateur was pinned against a wall by none other than her old booty call man; Detective Inspector Sun Wukong.

“ _ **You're** a fucking cop, Sun?!_ ” Blake screamed in panic.

“And you're a shit-eating mafioso, Blake,” Sun retorted angrily. “Some real observant fucker caught you red-handed, killing off a corrupted land developer and his cronies, _and_ our fucking dispatcher! Even though half of the Vale probably would thank you for the former, I am here to arrest you fuckers for a laundry list of charges.”

* * *

**A/N: ... well _that_ happened. **


	15. ... Must Come To Their Ends

### Chapter Fifteen: ... Must Come To Their Ends

19th of November, 1990

Oscar Pine preferred to be alone in the world. It meant that he could focus on his career and hobbies to his heart's content, without having a nagging busybody to answer to. Despite his wishes, however, he wasn't a shut-in. This was mostly due to his job as the communications master for Atlas Terrace Police Station. He'd resigned himself to be sociable on the job, and quickly learned to his chagrin that going to the pub with his colleagues was practically part of the job.

This left Oscar in a position where his independence was retained, yet his world was being colonised by other people. It was strange for him, but he felt more willing to let his hair down and enjoy life more. With this in mind, he found himself dining at the Vytal for his twenty-fifth birthday.

“Hello sir,” a quiet voice called, “may I take your order?”

Oscar turned to face his waitress. She was short, even more so than Oscar was, and had a shock of brown hair that framed her cherubic face. She had grey eyes that lay behind magenta-tinted lenses, and her diminutive size didn't change her curvaceous figure. All in all, she was quite attractive – but Oscar would never admit it to anyone he knew.

“I'll have the fettuccine carbonara, please.”

“Any drinks with that?”

“Cooper's Pale Ale, if you have it.”

“Indeed we do, sir. I'll be back with the drink.”

The way her hips swung on her way back to the bar made Oscar feel warm, like a furnace in his heart had been stoked. _Whoa_ , he realised, _she's just … so … amazing to look at! I've_ _never __felt this way about anyone before_. Meanwhile, Neo Politana approached the serving window, where she handed Oscar's order over to the waiting list. Blake, who was sitting at the nearby bar, smirked as she noticed how her waitress gazed at the young man in a tan suit.

“Thinking about pulling him home, are we?”

Neo blushed furiously. “N-no, Blake!”

“Yeah _right_ , Little Miss Bashful. It's not a problem if you leave with him. He's cute!”

The cynical, leering tone that Blake had used was purely a means of implying that, if Neo wouldn't do it, then Blake would proceed to do _him_. After all, Sun had been forced to move to Brisbane for work at the start of the year, and that made for one hungry Belladonna in need of a man. However, Blake cared more for her mother and friends than she did for herself, and her tone was to spur her friend into getting some.

It worked like a charm.

Oscar was handed his beer by a server that now seemed entranced by the sight of his emerald eyes. Her demure, shy smile brought her mark's heart rate up a few beats per minute, and the way she bent over to serve dessert to another customer forced Oscar into heat, and Blake into an easily-stifled giggling fit.

Later, when Oscar's fettuccine was ready, Neo had to contend with Ashley Fall trying to retrieve it. Blake had to bite her hand to prevent her laughter when Neo gave her co-worker a glare that spelled doom and possible dismemberment if Ashley _dared_ steal her man.

Finally, closing time came, and Oscar handed the cash needed to Neo as she stood behind the till. She printed the receipt on a specially-prepared piece of paper, having become thoroughly smitten with the polite and quite gentleman with the cute eyes, and handed it right over. As he thanked her and walked towards the door, Oscar looked at the back of the receipt and got this message: “Flat 3, NW corner of Beacon and Sanus. The name is Neo.”

 _Well_ , Oscar thought as he piled into his green Morris Minor, _I'd be willing to at least get to know this Neo._

As he turned right onto Sanus Street, he noticed a dark blue car pulled over with a man standing over the hood. _Better be charitable_ _and help him_ , Oscar reasoned. He pulled over straight away and stepped out of his car. But little did he know that it would be the last mistake he'd ever make.

* * *

7th of December, 1990

Within ten minutes, the entirety of the Bellas were dragged into a squad of police vans in handcuffs – save one. Pyrrha had _narrowly_ avoided the raid by going to renew her parking ticket, and she'd jumped in her car and hid as the convoy of police vans hurtled past her. Fearing the worst, she waited until the last had pulled up outside the Vytal Restaurant, then tore down Vacuo Road in her Fairmont. _**Jesus Christ**_ , she panicked, _there's only one thing I can do before the bastards come for me_. Rounding the corner to Beacon Street, she parked in her and Ruby's driveway, then cantered into Blake's house. Locking the door behind her, she jumped into the wardrobe on the lounge room wall and descended into the bunker.

Thankfully for her, Blake had entrusted Pyrrha with being the one to destroy all evidence of their crimes in case their cover ever got blown. Over the last year, most of the evidence of the gang's killing and drug-planting activities had long since gone up in flames, being thrown unceremoniously into the incinerator at Pyrrha's dealership as part of their legitimisation. Nora had long since purged whatever evidence lay at the Aurora, and Pyrrha herself had personally destroyed every last item that the dealership gangs had used for nefarious purposes.

At this point, the only things worth destroying were the weapons and the lone memento of their exploits – Blake's memories book. Pyrrha methodically removed Blake's M16A1 and Ruby's L42A1, along with the numerous Beretta 92's and silencers that the gangs all used from their cases. She stashed them in a large duffel bag which was big enough to house them. A second duffel bag was used to store the ammunition and accessories, and every last piece of incriminating evidence was swiftly removed from Blake's house, with the bunker locked away for good once Pyrrha emerged.

Tossing the bags over to her backyard, Pyrrha jumped the fence with book in hand and set about hiding the evidence. Unbeknownst to anyone else, Pyrrha and Ruby had a panic room integrated within their own home. It was accessible only through a lead-lined, lockable trap door which could be accessed only through a crawl space beneath the staircase, which itself had a door and a heavy bookcase in front of it for good measure. Shifting and opening the passageway, Pyrrha disassembled the weapons and removed the photos from the album. Placing the weapons within the safe first, she took great care in piling the accessories, ammunition and blank album on top of them.

Once she locked the doors and moved the bookcase in place, Pyrrha moved to the incinerator at the back of her and Ruby's garden. Setting it alight, Pyrrha carefully burned the photos alongside yard trimmings she and her lover had yet to finish destroying. By the following morning, the last of the evidence had burned out beyond recognition. Pyrrha had already awoken and had just finished her toast and black tea when the fuzz came for her.

* * *

Just before noon on that morning, a supremely satisfied DI Wukong was reflecting on every single charge brought against the Bellas in his office. _Multiple counts of murder, arson and fraud, the highest rate of grand theft auto in Greater Sydney, drug manufacturing, tampering with evidence … there isn't a chance in hell any of these sick bastards will go free_.

At present, Coco and Neptune were interviewing the last few arrested perps, having taken turns with the other five officers for the lengthy process of giving the whole Bellas a thorough grilling. Scarlet, Sage and Yatsuhashi were resting up at home after their shifts went overnight, while Velvet led the murder and vice squads in a massive search operation upon each and every property owned by the arrested parties. As for Fox, he was ensconced in the office of Operation Rosewood, collating the mountain of testimony and evidence that they'd received in the last fortnight.

But beneath the satisfaction of having the biggest haul beheld in Sydney's policing history, Sun was still reeling at the fate that befell the dispatcher of his station. Oscar Pine had been last seen exiting the Vytal after dinner, and was found dead in a ditch the following morning. What was _disturbing_ was the fact that his severed head was found jammed halfway up his butthole; the sheer sight of it managed to induce vomiting from Sun, Penny, Velvet, and Ilia when she was tasked with reporting on the scene. Sun had done his best to show Oscar the ropes when the young man entered the force, and considered him akin to a younger brother. His fate made the inspector's blood boil; even more so when the source revealed that the killer not only caused the Torchwick conspiracy to be destroyed, but was his own girlfriend for nearly a year.

 _Velvet was damned right about Blake all a-_ _ **fucking**_ _-long_ , he stewed angrily. _I should have realised that bloody dago was living up all the stereotypes about her kind_.

“Excuse me, DI Wukong?”

Sun turned towards the door, and found himself staring at an older, more wizened version of Blake. _Her mother, I'm guessing_.

“What brings you here, ma'am?”

“I've got some evidence to provide for the murder of Oscar Pine.”

Sun rose quickly from his seat, with his eyes widened slightly. “Is that so? Well, you've come to the right place for that. What evidence do you have to show me?”

The woman's cautious expression vanished at that instant, replaced with a hardened gaze that Sun recognised as “slow-burning anger”.

“I'm here to confirm that Blake Belladonna had no hand in the murder in question.”

Sun's expression shifted to pure _contempt_. “Follow me to the interviewing room downstairs. I'll need to call in my second-in-command to help.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, DS Velvet Scarlatina barrelled into the interviewing room, startling both Sun and an older woman who looked rather impatient.

“Sorry to hold you up, sir; I had to ride from Patch's east end.”

“That's OK, Velv,” Sun responded, not noticing his colleague's blush when he turned the tape recorder on.

“Interview with Kali Belladonna commencing at 12:12 hours, with DI Wukong and DS Scarlatina present.”

Sun and Velvet turned to face their witness. “So, Mrs Belladonna, what evidence are you bringing to light today?”

“I have credible evidence against the idea that my daughter, Blake Belladonna, was responsible in any way, shape or form for the murder of Oscar Pine.”

Velvet exchanged glances with her superior, then continued. “What evidence do you have to show us?”

Kali produced two identical pieces of paper. “I've brought in the call log for my address for that week, along with a copy for your records.”

Sun looked at the log he'd been given, and noticed that it was legitimate. “Pardon my prying, but how did you get your hands on this?”

“Well, I have a neighbour who works for Telstra. I asked him to print these off as a favour once my daughter told me she'd been arrested.”

Sun nodded gingerly, and Velvet picked up the slack. “Getting back to topic; what happened on the 19 th  of November?”

“On the night of the 19th, I received a call from Blake just before her restaurant's closing time, wherein she requested that I pick her up. She'd told me that her car had been leaking oil, and had driven up with her head server.”

“So,” Velvet asked cautiously, “how come she rang you for a lift?”

Kali was slightly irked at the interruption, but responded calmly. “ _Well_ , the server had taken a fancy to one of the diners, and had given him her address as he left at closing time. The server drove off five minutes afterwards, by which point I was talking to Blake about the lift.”

“And when did said lift come in?”, Sun enquired.

“I came to pick Blake up half an hour after the closing time. She wasn't bloody or frazzled when I found her, so there's no chance in hell she killed that man.”

“Is it possible, though,” Sun pressed, “that she tracked down the victim, killed him, and came back during the time span?”

“Not in the slightest, moron.”

“How come you think that, Ms Belladonna?”

Kali _barely_ held her temper in the face of Sun's slight, and responded with more snark.  
  
“Because if she was capable of doing that in the space of half an hour, then I wouldn't have needed to pick her up, would I?”

Sun was instantly defeated. _Of_ _ course _ _that's true; Blake had car trouble that night and Neo drove her to the Vytal. Then again, she may be lying … but I'd better end it here._

“That will be all. Interview concluded at 12:19 hours.”

Kali was led out without protest, and Sun turned to Velvet while the latter fished the tape out of the recorder.

“Thoughts?”

“She's either being completely honest, or she's more deceptive than anyone else I've met.”

“Fair enough,” Sun replied while exiting the interview room after his partner. No sooner had the pair ascended the stairs than they were confronted with Fox.

“Sir, I just got a call from the heads of murder and vice. They've just finished the search and … well … there is simply no evidence to suggest the existence of any mafia-style organisation; there's no weapons, no corpses, no incriminating journals or _anything_. Therefore, the whole lot of them are to be released without charge.”

Velvet cocked an eyebrow as their collator left. “You mean to tell me that this whole Torchwick case is nixed because we can't prove they did it? That's … disappointing, not to mention unfulfilling.”

“I know,” Sun replied, “but we've still got Oscar's murder to consider. I'm all for putting Belladonna and Politana through the wringer for what they fucking did to Oscar. Politana will likely get the murder charge, and Belladonna for conspiracy.”

“Are you sure about that, though?”, Velvet asked. “I mean, Neo had no reason to kill someone she took a fancy to, and it's not like she has form for any violent crime. Even our source's testimony paints her as an organiser rather than a killer. And Blake couldn't have done the murder either.”

Sun stroked his chin. “Good point. All the same, we have Politana's fingerprints on the receipt. And it's not as though anyone stands out as a suspected tamperer of evidence.”

“What if the testimony itself was a lie, though?”, Velvet pleaded. “What if our source was responsible for carrying out or ordering Oscar's murder and set those women up?”

Sun shrugged. “It may be worth looking into, but I'm not sure the source did anything untoward; after all, he never was a killer. But I'll bear that in mind if we end up dropping the charges. Speaking of, I'll need to talk to Ozpin and Glynda about that soon.”

* * *

By the evening, the entirety of the former Bellas had left the police building. Only Blake and Neo felt worried; they'd had to pay their bail to leave, because the leading officer had made it clear that they were still under suspicion of committing the crime. The following day, Blake and Neo lay sequestered within separate houses. While Neo was stuck in the flat that Emerald previously called home, Blake was within the accommodating confines of her own home when a knock came at quarter past nine.

“Jaune, is that you?”, Blake called as she approached the front door.

“Yes, it's me,” he replied as the door was opened. “But I can't be here too long, lest the cops get suspicious.”

Blake nodded frantically; no chances were to be taken at _this_ point.

“Fair enough. Did you consider my request?”

“I did, and it's doable if circumstances deteriorate. I'll be able to get one of my lawyers to do it, but there won't be much input from me. I mean, I don't want the cops getting _too_ suspicious about my working relationship with you and Neo, you know?”

Blake grimaced in response to Jaune's argument.

“I get what you're on about. I'm not fond of the fact you won't want to represent me if worst comes to worst, but I'll admit you have good reason not to.”

“That's not the only reason, by the way.”

Blake's left eyebrow cocked upwards slightly.

“Is that so?”

“Indeed. Long story short, I got a call two hours after I was freed. One of my sisters is due to give birth at her place in Townsville at any minute, so I've been summoned up there for the following month to be with my family. First grandchild and all that.”

Blake nodded understandingly.  
  
“Very well, then. Which lawyer do you want to send my way for our case?”

“Hmm, good question. I reckon … Ciel Soleil would be best for the task. She's gotten people off of murder charges beforehand, and she's better than anyone else on my books at criminal law.”

“Fair enough. Hand me her number and I'll get her to help me and Neo.”

Jaune reached into his wallet and fished out the appropriate business card. Blake took note of the number, and memorised it.

“I hope she's as good as you claim, Jaune. I'd hate to go to prison on trumped-up charges such as this.”

“Agreed. Now, I'm afraid I have to go; I need to get the practice equipped to deal with my absence, then catch a 7:30 flight to Townsville.”

Blake looked understandingly at him. “Of course. Farewell, Jaune.”

Jaune nodded at his old employer, then exited the door. Blake sighed in relief.

 _I hope I won't need Ciel's expertise at this_ , she realised, _but it's good to have an ace up my sleeve_.

* * *

**A/N: At this point, I'm not sure where to go with the story. I have a good and bad ending for the fic, but I'm not sure which course to take. Feel free to leave a comment on which path should be taken.**


	16. Deliberation and Deception

### Chapter Sixteen: Deliberation And Deception

As the police clocked off on the evening of the 8 th , Sun Wukong walked stiffly into the foyer with a form in his tense hand. He checked it one last time, making sure to leave nothing out of his request to monitor the Bellas, then deposited it into the relevant pile of paperwork. Sighing as he exited the front doors, the cop piled into his Taurus and drove as calmly as he could back to his house on Windpath Drive. Making it inside, the angry cop ripped a six-pack of VB out of the fridge, and drank until his rage was quenched by sleep.

The following morning at the stroke of ten, Sun made his way into Atlas Terrace Station, where his superiors were waiting for him out front.

“Ah, DI Wukong,” Superintendent Ozpin started. “How good of you to come around on time.”

“Of course, sir,” Sun replied; “I wouldn't want to be late for a meeting like this.”

“So let us get to the guts of it,” Glynda interjected sternly. “There was no evidence to back our source's claims, correct?”

“No."

“And the evidence in the Pine case is shaky, to say least?”

“Yes.”

Glynda then glared at him. “So why are you pushing to stalk these individuals on the off-chance that they'll do something wrong?”

Sun threw his hands up. “Call it a gut instinct. I _know_ they're rotten to the core; you can tell by just looking at them.”

Ozpin held his hands out defensively. “Be that as it may, we cannot illegally arrest or harass them. You know this.”

Sun slumped and pouted. “I know. It's just … I'm frustrated with the sheer lack of progress Operation Rosewood has made in solving the Torchwick and Pine cases. I mean, can I be blamed for wanting to bring Oscar's killers to justice?”

“Of course not,” Ozpin reassured. “However, it'll be better for all involved if you refused to allow your want for vengeance to override your reason. Now, I rang the accused five minutes ago and told them the charges were dropped. Is that _clear_ , Wukong?”

Sun grimaced at the news. _Of_ _ course _ _Ozpin would call me out as politely as possible_ , he groused silently.

“Yes sir,” was his outward reply.

“All that said,” Glynda added, “there is one outstanding matter we need to inform you about.”

“What is it?”

“Our source's immunity deal. It's fallen through, and the source needs to be brought in.”

Sun perked up at the news. “Well, that I _can_ look forward to. When do we start?”

“I've already sent the warrant to DS Scarlatina. The pair of you, along with Adel and Vasilias, can bring him in at your earliest convenience.”

“OK!”, Sun happily responded. “Consider it done!”

* * *

Sun bounded out of the office with a sense of relief and jubilation after getting the all-clear to arrest the source. After all, it wasn't every day that he got to clasp cuffs around the wrists of a smug lawyer. And as Glynda exited the office for a smoke nearly two hours later, Ozpin's phone rang.

“Hello, Superintendent Ozpin of Atlas Terrace Station speaking.”

“It's Blake Belladonna.”

 _Uh-oh_. “What seems to be the matter?”

“I've taken legal advice since you called, and I'm considering filing a slander lawsuit against the person who made the accusations against me.”

“I see.”

“I merely wish to know his name.”

Ozpin sighed. “Very well. His name is Jaune Arc.”

Blake hid her surprise perfectly. “Arc? As in the law firm?”

“Yes. It seems he ran afoul of Interpol and decided to save his skin by staining yours.”

“With the mafia accusation or the murder accusation?”

“Potentially both,” Ozpin pragmatically replied. There was a pause, before Blake gave a calm response.

“Very well, Superintendent. That will be all. Thank you for your help.”

The line went dead. Ozpin sighed, before returning to the paperwork mountain on his desk. He had _priorities_ , after all.

The minute she hung up, Blake calmly picked up a throw pillow off of her couch and roared into it for a solid minute. Once finished, the restaurateur decided that one thing was in order; revenge. However, the arrest made her wary of calling in the Bellas to do it, let alone exact revenge on the traitor _personally_.

 _Wait a minute_ , Blake realised, _where did I put that?_ She rummaged through her purse until she found her prize.

 _Gotcha_.

* * *

As the clock struck twelve merely three minutes later, Jaune was finally signing the last piece of paperwork for his escape to work smoothly; his letter of resignation. _Excellent_ , he realised as he placed his pen down for the last time. _I'm sure Ciel and the others can work effectively without me at the helm, and it'll give me the chance I need to avoid deportation_.

Jaune grabbed both his briefcases from beneath his desk. One carried a change of clothes, some mementos and false identification, while the other contained his severance and his pay for the preceding month. Leaving his office, Jaune walked down to the foyer, and out the front door. Retrieving his keys from his right hip pocket, the lawyer walked without arousing suspicion towards his getaway vehicle – namely, Cinder's Volvo 340, which had fake number plates and a golden paint job.

As he walked past the dumpsters however, Jaune got the feeling that someone was following him. As he opened the boot of his new car and placed the cases within, he heard footsteps behind him. He spun around with his left hand inside his jacket, and _narrowly_ avoided a concussion by cricket bat, courtesy of a furious Ciel Soliel.

“Grab some clouds, you bastard!”, the woman roared. To her confusion, her erstwhile boss chuckled.

“Funny. I was going to ask you to do the same.”

Before Ciel could process those words, Jaune had pulled out his Beretta 92 and trained it on her head. In a moment of panic, Ciel dropped the bat and went to catch it. With her focus diverted, Jaune swiftly pistol-whipped Ciel unconscious, then stuffed her into the boot of the Volvo. Taking a roll of duct tape from the toolbox within the boot, he bound her legs, hands, and mouth before picking up the cricket bat and his briefcases. Shutting the boot closed, Jaune threw the cases and bat in the passenger seat and fired the engine up.

Pulling out as quickly as he could without arousing suspicion, Jaune managed to get onto Atlas Terrace without anyone in his office realising what had happened. However, as he hit the intersection of Atlas and Kuchinashi, he realised that escaping the Vale wasn't as easy as he'd realised. This was due to the presence of two squad cars gaining on him, with Sun and Velvet up his arse and Sage and Coco over his left shoulder.

“SHIT!”, he exclaimed as the light went green. He tore off from the mark, into the left hand lane and turned left onto Mistral Boulevard. Knowing full well that the cops would corner him if he went to the backstreets, he sped onto the northern end of Signal Circle and exited the Vale with the cops well behind him. He turned right onto Heathcote Road, making it to the A6. Sun cursed him as he sped even harder in the area car.

“Fuck's sake. Velvet, tell Ozpin we've got a car chase on our hands, likely entering Sydney from the Sutherland Shire.”

Velvet nodded, bringing her radio transmitter to bear and relaying the message verbatim to an annoyed superintendent. He only had one terse response, dripping in chained anger.

“Acknowledged. Bring him in alive.”

* * *

**A/N: Apologies for the short chapter. I've been busy planning a 60th birthday party for my dad, along with working and rewriting the last quarter of this fanfic, so I've kept it brief.**

**Stay tuned for a car chase next episode!**


End file.
